Time Travel
by sirensbane
Summary: Plot twist! Harry, Ron, and Hermione must travel back in time to help the Pharaoh defeat Bakura. On the bright side, if the world ends now, who cares about Voldemort's return?
1. Chapter 1

The king of Egypt gripped the railing of his balcony as he stared out over the desert. The night was cool and a breeze wafted over the pharaoh's bare arms and shoulders. He was wearing a light linen tunic, but had left his purple cloak draped across his bed. With no one watching, he wanted to lay down as much of his kingship as he could.

But he would not…could not… remove the crown. The gold weighed his head down heavily. With no one watching, he could let his head droop under the weight, but he would never, could never, take it off. It was part of who he was, the bit of being Pharaoh he could never lay aside. It was not the gold that made it such a heavy burden to bear.

For once, the city was quiet. The fires had finally been extinguished, and the screams that had torn at the pharaoh's ears three nights before had died. Bakura and his men had disappeared as quickly as they had come, content, it seemed, to leave death and destruction in their wake.

And Pharaoh himself was powerless to stop them.

He gripped the rail even more tightly and grit his teeth. If only he could fight Bakura face-to-face! The power granted to him by his Millennium Puzzle was more than sufficient to deal with the Thief King, no matter what Shadow Magic the criminal was rumored to be the master of. Atem did not allow true rumors of _his _power to spread rampantly, lest the peasants be too terrified to remain and farm their land.

With the power he had inherited and mastered, the pharaoh was very nearly the god that his people believed him to be.

But even the strongest power needed direction. Bakura was always careful to lurk just out of reach, striking here and there, but never remaining in the same place long enough for Pharaoh to bring his full power to bear. He could destroy minions until he was blue in the face, but the Thief King himself remained untouchable. Like one of the Shadows at his bidding, he flitted through the kingdom, invisible and silent.

A shadow that was slowly bringing Egypt to its knees.

The pharaoh's eyes narrowed. There_ were_ methods he could use to find the Thief King, but his stomach rebelled at what each one would cost. The still-beating heart of a child, cut from its chest and consumed by the Shadowmancer, would allow him to find anyone and anything he chose. Likewise, drinking the blood and soul of a close friend would bring him enough power to sense every living thing in all of Egypt. He thought of Mahaad, or Seth, and shuddered. Maybe to another king, the sacrifice would have been reasonable to save an entire country. The Thief King would certainly perform such a ritual. But Atem would not, could not, descend to that level, anymore than he could turn back time and pretend this entire nightmare had never happened.

Something, though, had to be done.

"Great gods of Egypt," Pharaoh breathed into the cool night air, "Heed my prayer. Send me some way to save my people."

There was a piercing scream from the city below, and the pharaoh jerked, his hand going instinctively to the Millennium Puzzle.

"Please, gods of Egypt," he whispered again, "Help us soon."

* * *

_5000 years in the future…_

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, if you do not pay attention in my class, I will personally skin you alive and use you as wall decorations."

Both boys jumped guiltily. "Sorry, Professor McGonagall." They had been discussing the return of You-Know-Who, and maybe their voices had been getting a _little _too loud.

The teacher did not look mollified. "I understand that your conversation can _undoubtedly_ not be postponed until a more appropriate time, but I _will not have_ you talking in my class until I am satisfied you have completelymastered the material."

Another wince. They were working on transforming animals into inanimate objects and back again, and so far neither one had been having much luck. Ron's mouse had a tail made of stone and feet that were giving off the unmistakable odor of rotting eggs. Harry's mouse was a bit luckier: only the feet stank. It was running circles around Ron's mouse, which was unable to move more than a few centimeters under the weight of its heavy tail.

Professor McGonagall eyed the poor creatures sternly. Then, with a flick of her wand, the mice were once again returned to normal. The smell disappeared. Both mice immediately jumped from the desk and ran out of sight, causing an outbreak of squeals from the girls as the rodents ran across their feet.

"You will write twelve inches on the proper use of this spell, as well as a detailed description of the incantation and correct wand technique," McGonagall told Harry and Ron, ignoring the racket. "Due to me by tomorrow."

"But Professor," Harry protested. What with the possibility of detention with Umbridge every time he opened his mouth, as well as the pile of work he had to complete already, he didn't have the _time_ to write another essay tonight. It wasn't fair! Everyone else in the room had been talking too, and _they _weren't being assigned anything.

"No buts, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said sternly. "You could use the practice."

Harry had just opened his mouth to protest again when Hermione elbowed him in the ribs and hissed, "Don't say anything else, Harry! You'll only get into more trouble."

Harry clamped his jaw shut angrily. He knew she was right, but if anything, that only made him angrier. By that time, Hermione had elbowed Ron too and delivered the same warning. The red-headed boy didn't seem any happier about it than Harry was. But at least he didn't say anything.

"Now, if you'll permit me to get back to my lesson," McGonagall said irritably, sweeping her steely gaze over the entire class. Silence fell. "We will continue."

Without mice, Harry and Ron were forced to share with Hermione. With a flick of her wand and a muttered, "Commutatus," she managed to change her mouse into a pincushion, an alarm clock, and a delicate china figurine in quick succession.

"Commutus," Ron said, his wand nearly knocking the figurine to the floor as he waved it randomly about. The figurine let out a frightened squeak and turned a violent shade of orange.

"Not commutus," Hermione said exasperatedly, "Com-mute-taut-us."

"Commutatus," Ron mumbled, waving his wand again. This time, the figurine shattered on the floor.

"Oh for Heaven's sake," Hermione snapped. "Reparo!" The figurine reformed itself immediately. "You probably just gave the poor thing brain damage. Flick your wand, don't thrust it like a sword!"

"Brain damage?" Ron stared at her. "It's a mouse, Hermione. I don't think it will notice the difference."

Hermione sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. "Well try and be a bit more careful."

"Let me try," Harry said. He tried to imitate the flicking movement Hermione had made a few moments before. "Commutatus." He was rewarded by the figurine suddenly sprouting fur, though it was still made out of china. "Hey, that's progress, right?"

Hermione sighed. "I think McGonagall's right. You need to practice."

"Just whose side are you on?" Ron demanded, just as the bell rang.

"The side of accuracy," she replied archly, shoving her books into her bag and hoisting it with a loud _oof _onto her shoulder.

The two friends continued to bicker as they left McGonagall's classroom and headed off down the hall. Harry trailed along behind, partly amused and partly annoyed by his friend's antics. He wished he could be at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix right now, instead of putting up with Ministry spies and boring classes. Not to mention piles of homework.

He glanced at his schedule and groaned. _History of Magic_. Easily the most boring class at Hogwarts. The teacher, Professor Binns, was a ghost, and Harry sometimes suspected it was his personal mission to kill as many of his students through boredom as possible. Maybe he wanted the company. _Well_, Harry thought, _at least it isn't Potions. _Whatever Binns did, Snape was immeasurably worse.

He heard identical groans from in front of him as Ron and Hermione stopped arguing long enough to examine their schedules.

"History of Magic?" Ron moaned. "Can't they do an exorcism or something and drive Binns out?"

"History of Magic is a very important subject for our OWLs," Hermione said crisply. She winced. "Though I _do _wish we had another teacher."

Unwillingly, they followed their feet in the direction of the History of Magic classroom. But halfway there, a squat woman in a horrid pink dress and a bright pink bowtie perched on her frog-like head emerged out of a nearby classroom. Harry felt his stomach lurch.

"Hello, Mr. Potter. Ms. Granger. Mr. Weasley," Umbridge simpered. "Where are you heading to?"

"History of Magic," Harry said, bristling. Her knowing smile and piercing gaze made his blood boil. He clenched his fists and tried not to lose control.

"Oh, how _very _interesting," she said with what was clearly supposed to be a girlish giggle. It sounded like nails being scraped on a chalkboard. "Well, be on your way."

"Thank you, Professor Umbridge," Hermione said, grabbing Harry's arm and squeezing it tightly to prevent him from giving voice to all the things he desperately wanted to say to her. As Umbridge waddled away, Hermione started dragging Harry in the opposite direction.

"I hate her!" he hissed fiercely. "Why did she have to open her fat, stupid mouth?"

"Harry!" she hissed back, just as fiercely. "Be careful! Let's just go to History of Magic. Come on."

"Binns and that Umbridge woman all in one day," Ron muttered as they continued walking. "I'm pretty sure this day can't get any worse."

"Don't say that," Harry said. "You'll jinx us."

Ron looked suddenly nervous. "You don't think that's true about jinxing, do you?"

"Ron, you're in fifth year and you don't know about jinxes?" Hermione said, exasperated. "No wonder you couldn't cast that spell in _Transfigurations_."

"Hey!" both boys said.

She sighed. "Never mind."

They had reached the door of Binns' classroom. Resigning themselves to an hour of utter boredom, Harry, Ron, and Hermione stepped inside.

And groaned as their day abruptly got worse.

Professor Umbridge was sitting in a corner of the classroom, her clipboard open on her lap. She had a quill in one hand and a nasty smile on her face. As the trio passed her, she smiled wider and scribbled something on her clipboard. Harry threw her a nasty look which, fortunately, she did not appear to catch.

"Hey, maybe she'll sack Binns," Ron whispered as they took their seats. At Hermione's look, he held up his hands. "I'm trying to look on the bright side here."

"I doubt it," Harry sighed. "She only wants to sack the good teachers. Like Hagrid." There was a pause. "Okay, the teachers we _like._"

Professor Binns floated up to the head of the class a moment later after giving Umbridge a slightly puzzled look. The change in routine, however, did not faze him for long. Umbridge stood up, but before she could give her little simpering laugh and clear her throat to make any sort of introduction, he launched into his lecture. She sat down again, clearly put out. Harry hid a grin.

"Today," Binns droned. "We will be learning about the ancient Egyptians and the magic that existed in their culture before the conquest of Alexander the Great."

Harry sighed and put his head down on his desk. A subject that might have been interesting with another teacher was now already putting him to sleep. He happened to glance at Umbridge, only to find her staring at him with a smug expression on her face. With an effort, he forced himself to sit upright again. To his left and right, Ron and Hermione were also slipping into a daze, but they made a half-hearted attempt to copy his motion. The rest of the class didn't even bother.

Binns was talking about the pharaohs, but Harry wasn't listening anymore. Instead, he was brooding about You-Know-Who. The Order wasn't sure exactly what his plans were, but Harry longed to be with them, helping to figure it out, rather than listen to Binns list ancient Egyptian Pharaohs and what they had built with and without the aid of magic.

"_**Great gods of Egypt…"**_

Harry, who had been slumping down again, sat bolt upright. The voice hadn't come from Binns; it was deeper and full of a kind of desperation. He looked around, but no one else seemed to have heard it. As he watched, Lavender Brown yawned hugely.

"_**Heed my prayer…"**_

To his right, Hermione started. She stared at Harry, wide-eyed, then mouthed, "What was that?" Harry shrugged. He nudged Ron and whispered, "Did you hear that?"

Ron roused himself with an effort. "Hear what?" he whispered sleepily.

"_**Send me some way to save my people."**_

Ron's eyes opened wide with shock. "What was that?" he demanded, forgetting to keep his voice down. Binns paused briefly in his lecture, and the rest of the class turned to look. Ron flushed with embarrassment.

"Er…I'm sorry, Professor, but…" He cast around for a plausible lie. "I didn't hear that. Could you repeat it?"

Binns blinked once, then began again. The whole class groaned, and some of the other students gave Ron dirty looks. Umbridge was watching them closely, her eyes narrowed. Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned to face front. All three were tense, ears straining for more of the mysterious voice.

"Maybe it's Peeves," Ron whispered. "You know, playing some kind of joke?"

Harry shook his head. "This isn't the kind of joke Peeves likes to play," he said. "He's more of a 'drop an inkpot on somebody's head' sort of guy. This is different. I think…I think it's magic."

"Well, we _are_ in a school for magic," Hermione pointed out, but all three went quiet and still as the voice began again.

"_**Please, gods of Egypt," **_the man whispered. Harry looked around again, but no one else was reacting to a mysterious voice appearing out of thin air. He strained to hear. _**"Help us." **_Harry felt a chill run down his spine and along his neck. A slight breeze lifted his hair. The window was closed. A golden light appeared in the center of the aisle nearest the trio, growing brighter and brighter by the second. Still, nobody noticed.

"_**Soon," **_came the voice again, and with that final word, Harry felt a terrific tug on the back of his collar. He was lifted bodily out of his seat and dragged across the floor towards the pool of light. A creature with golden feathers that resembled a griffin glared at him with empty eyes, while a gigantic red dragon coiled around its body. Behind the pair, he saw another hulking shape like a gargoyle. But he saw nothing else because the light expanded until his entire world was filled with it. He could hear Hermione screaming and Ron yelling curses, but he could not move to help them, could not even grasp his wand.

Then in an instant, the light had vanished. Harry, Ron, and Hermione disappeared.

* * *

The first thing Harry realized was that his mouth was filled with sand. He raised his head and spat, but the sand seemed to be everywhere, clinging to his skin like glue. He rubbed his face with both hands, but they too were smeared with sand.

He looked around. Hermione and Ron lay a few feet away, also spitting and coughing up sand. His mouth wouldn't work when he tried to call to them. But he couldn't just lie there helpless. With a huge effort, Harry dragged himself to his feet. After a moment, Ron and Hermione followed suit.

They were standing in the middle of a huge desert, stretching out in all directions. The sun beat down on their heads; the heat was stifling. The History of Magic classroom, indeed all of Hogwarts, was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

"I want you to lead the patrol today, Seth," Pharaoh said, turning away from the balcony. "I have a…feeling that something will happen that will require your talents." Seth was worried to see that Pharaoh's face seemed drawn and there were dark circles under his eyes. But the man's bearing was still proud and noble, and his eyes were still bright. Bakura hadn't taken that much at least.

Privately, Seth harbored fantasies of what exactly he was going to do to Bakura when they finally caught him. Flaying alive was the current favorite. Now, looking at his king's exhausted face, Seth resolved to think of something a bit more…painful.

Since the raid, Pharaoh had begun sending patrols into the desert to circle the city at some distance. Usually, several of the minor priests accompanied them to deal with the Shadowmancers that Bakura employed, or to give magical warning to the capital if the Thief King himself were to appear. No one harbored much belief that they would be able to deal directly with Bakura's magic, but the priests with real power, like Seth, could not afford to leave the city. Bakura was more likely to bypass the patrols entirely and sneak into the capital.

Still, the patrols soothed the surrounding peasants, who appreciated a show of force, and prevented Bakura from attacking the capital with his thieves behind him. Bakura's men were not skilled enough to avoid the protections, both magical and physical, that defended the Pharaoh's throne.

"A premonition?" Seth asked.

Pharaoh sighed. "A prayer."

It was a mark of Seth's respect for his pharaoh that he didn't question the order. Not out loud, at any rate. He simply bowed and strode from the room, calling for his horse.

* * *

"Okay, where the bloody hell are we?" Ron demanded.

Hermione shaded her eyes with one hand and looked around. "A desert of some kind. We're certainly not near Hogwarts."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Well duh. I was hoping for something a bit more specific."

"Um guys?" Harry interrupted. "Aren't those the Pyramids?" He pointed.

The other two looked in the direction he indicated. "Yes," Hermione said finally. "Yes, I think they are."

"Egypt then," Ron said. He grinned. "Cool."

"The question is, why we are we suddenly in Egypt?" Hermione said tersely. She examined the distant Pyramids again. "I thought there were more Pyramids than that."

Ron looked too. "There are." He suddenly looked worried. "Just where the hell are we?"

"I think a better question might be "_When _are we?" Harry said. "I don't think...if you guys are right, I think we might…we might have traveled back in time."

Ron looked appalled. "But why?" he asked, a slight tremor in his voice. "I mean, why us?"

"Why does _all_ the bad stuff alwayshappen to us?" Harry asked bitterly. "It's just the way it is."

"Well, I for one am not going to just hang out here in the middle of the desert," Hermione said crisply. "Let's walk towards the Pyramids. There are bound to be people there."

"Those things are so big they could be _days _away," Ron complained, but fell in step anyway. "Besides, do you speak Egyptian?"

Hermione faltered. "Well, no."

"Then how are you going to talk to anyone?" he pointed out. "They'll probably just execute us for being evil spirits or something."

"This is Egypt, not the Stone Age," Hermione protested. "They aren't barbarians."

"Um guys?" Harry said.

They both looked at him. He pointed to a dark cloud on the horizon, rapidly growing larger. "I think we're about to have a choice made for us."

They spread out slightly, Thankfully, they still had their wands. As the cloud approached, they were able to see what it was. Riders. Soldiers, judging by the spears they carried and the grim expressions on their faces. At the lead rode a man in flowing white robes and a strange, elaborate headdress. He held the reins with one hand and gripped a long golden staff in the other.

"Look at that guy's hat," Ron muttered, clearly trying to relive the tension all three felt at the sight of armed riders galloping down upon them.

"Don't use your wands until we're sure they mean to attack us," Harry said. "We're a little outnumbered."

"No kidding," Ron said. There were at least a hundred riders, not including the leader.

"I think the one in the lead is a priest," Hermione whispered. "But I can't tell from which era." She sounded vexed that she could not immediately identify the time period they were in from the clothing of a man who was half obscured by his horse's head.

Ron rolled his eyes. "How will you ever live down the shame?" he said sarcastically.

That was all they were able to say before the lead rider pulled his horse up in a spray of sand and wheeled it around to examine the trio. One of the soldiers rode up beside him and barked something unintelligible at Ron, Harry, and Hermione.

"Do you have any idea what he's saying?" Harry muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

Hermione looked worried. "No."

The soldier's eyes narrowed. While the priest watched impassively, he lowered his spear at them and repeated the question, more slowly. When they still did not respond, the man shifted tactics. He spoke again, this time in a different language entirely. At least it sounded different, but it still didn't make any sense to the three teenagers.

Finally, the lead rider spoke up. His voice was low and somewhat gravelly, and incomprehensible. He too tried a variety of languages, his eyes narrowing at the continued lack of response.

"I wish we could tell them that the only language we know won't be invented for a couple thousand years," Ron said.

The priest backed his horse up a step and barked an order at the soldiers. Instantly, about twenty of them rode forward and pointed their spears at the trio's throats.

Harry reacted. "Stupefy!" he yelled, pointing his wand at the nearest soldier and diving to the sand as the red beam of light knocked the man off his horse. Ron and Hermione followed his lead, dodging the spears and throwing non-lethal spells at the surrounding soldiers.

Harry darted to his feet and raised his wand again, but before he could cast another spell, he felt a suffocating pressure on his mind, and to his utter horror, he felt himself turning his wand towards Ron and Hermione. He tried desperately to lower it, but could not. His friends' eyes widened with horror. Without his direction, Harry's lips moved and his voice cried out, "Stupefy! Stupefy!"

His friends dropped to the sand, stunned, their wands falling from their limp hands. The soldiers dismounted, aiming their spears, but the priest said something in an imperious tone. They settled for forming a ring around the prisoners, spears at the ready, but no longer prepared to kill.

Harry was still frozen in place. The suffocating pressure on his mind lifted slightly, and he was able to turn his head as the priest dismounted and entered his field of view. There was a golden eye blazing on the man's forehead, and the staff in his hand was likewise glowing. Eyes never leaving Harry's face, the priest reached out and collected Harry's wand.

At the priest's command, several soldiers dismounted and cautiously approached the prisoners, while still others stood guard. Harry felt cold metal on his wrists and looked down to see the soldiers fastening on shackles. The semi-conscious Ron and Hermione were dragged to their feet and similar shackles secured. Soldiers retrieved their wands and presented them to the priest.

As Seth remounted his horse, he sighed inwardly. _You had a _feeling _something would happen_, he thought in Pharaoh's direction grumpily, though he knew his king would not hear. _Why for once could you not have been wrong? _Then a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. _Then again…_

To Harry, who did not know what Seth was thinking, the small smile did not bode well. He glanced at his friends, now stumbling beside him on rubbery legs, attached by ropes to the pommels of several guards' saddles. The guards who had been stupefied had been lifted up onto their horses and tied in place, but Ron and Hermione had no such help. Harry felt a jolt of horror at the memory of his hand rising on his own and his voice casting a spell without his control.

"It wasn't your fault," Hermione said softly. Harry whipped his head around to look at her. _How does she _do_ that?_

"But I…"

Ron shook his head. "Your eyes went all blank and there was this golden eye on your forehead. You looked possessed or something." He shrugged. "Hermione's right. It wasn't your fault."

One of the guards prodded Ron in the back with the butt of his spear. None of them could understand what he said, but the implication was clear: _Shut up._

Harry felt the pit in his stomach loosen a little, to be replaced by anger. He glared at the priest riding a little ways ahead of them. He remembered how there had been an eye on _his _forehead, the same symbol that was on the golden rod in his hand. If this man had the power to control others – _just like Voldemort, _Harry thought grimly – then he was dangerous.

The priest swiveled in his saddle to look back at Harry, as though he could hear what he was thinking. Harry looked away.

They walked for what seemed like hours. Each step took more and more effort. The sand clung to everything, and the thick black robes they still wore made it feel like they were walking in a furnace. Just when Harry thought it wasn't possible for it to get any hotter, the sun came directly overhead. The temperature climbed. The soldiers gave them some water, but before long, Harry's head was spinning.

A few minutes later, Hermione fell down in a dead faint. Immediately, the priest called a halt and dismounted. He felt Hermione's forehead, then pulled out his canteen and splashed some on her cheeks. Her eyes fluttered, then opened. The priest put the mouth of the canteen to her lips and squeezed a few drops into her mouth. The water revived her all the way, and he crouched at her side patiently while she drank.

Then he pulled a knife from his belt. Ron and Harry threw themselves at him, but the rope attached to their wrists dragged them back. Hermione's eyes widened in fear. But all he did was cut down the sleeve of her black robe to the neckline, allowing her to pull one of her arms out of the sleeve without removing the shackles. He shifted position and did the same thing to the other side. All the while, he murmured to her in his language. Though Hermione didn't understand his words, the tone was soothing. Slowly, she relaxed.

_He's about our age, _she realized. He met her eyes briefly as he worked, and she was startled to see they were dark blue, set like jewels in his tanned face. Her stomach lurched and she felt her cheeks flush.

_I'm his _prisoner_! _she told herself angrily. _I should _not _be caring about his looks!_ Her body paid no attention. She was suddenly extremely glad she was wearing jeans and a shirt beneath her robes.

He finished, and stood, reaching a hand under her elbow to pull her to her feet. His face was like stone, as though he frequently cut the robes off girls in the middle of the desert, but Hermione was weak-kneed with embarrassment. He waited until she found her feet before picking up the fabric that he had dropped.

Though he didn't speak English, his look of utter disdain said it all: _What kind of idiot wears thick black robes in the middle of a desert?_ Hermione felt the flush on her cheeks deepen.

The priest turned to Harry and Ron, who were watching the whole process with angry glares, and raised the hand with the knife in it questioningly. The boys shook their heads vigorously, too proud to admit that they were sweltering under their black robes.

"Don't be idiots," Hermione called to them. "It's not like you're not wearing clothes underneath."

Grudgingly, Ron and Harry nodded to the priest. But instead of approaching them, he simply swung back into his saddle. Guards did the job for him, leaving the tattered black robes lying in the sand. The boys fumed.

They began to walk again. Far in the distance, they could barely make out a vague blur on the horizon. It was to this blur that the priest was leading them. Now that she was not in danger of fainting, Hermione noticed that the entire party seemed tense and alert. The guards scanned the desert around them constantly, their hands never releasing their tight grip on their weapons. The priest, leading them, also kept a sharp eye on their surroundings, and occasionally the staff in his hand glowed with an eerie light. When this happened, he would push the party on with greater speed, forcing Harry, Ron, and Hermione to stagger on a little faster.

After a while, the outlines of the blur sharpened. It was a city, with high walls and massive gates. As they approached, Harry, Ron, and Hermione could make out guards patrolling along its length, all armed and wary. A great shout went up as the riders approached, but it was not until the priest called out to the city guards that the ponderous gates began to open.

A few steps later, the trio of prisoners finally stumbled into the city. The sights and sounds all around nearly overwhelmed them. There were merchants lining both sides of the wide street, calling out their wares in a variety of strange tongues. Fabrics, food, jars, all this and more covered the narrow wooden tables. Dancers dressed in little more than strips of cloth undulated on street corners, collecting coins without missing a beat. Everywhere people were buying, selling, and bargaining in the shade of the sand-colored buildings. There were horses everywhere, and the road was littered with the occasional droppings of dung. It felt like walking into a merry-go-round of color: dizzying. The Egyptian people, dressed in loincloths and tattered tunics, turned to stare as the patrol rode through the gates. Momentary silence fell.

The riders didn't stop or even slow. They trotted down the road, trusting on the people to clear the route before them. Two of the guards rode at the head of the column, yelling at those who did not move quickly enough. The peasants and merchants moved, but Harry thought he saw a hint of sullenness in their eyes when they caught sight of the party's leader. As for the priest himself, he paid no attention to the people crowding in on either side. He seemed consumed by his own thoughts.

Whispering began to run through the crowd as the stumbling group of prisoners was spotted. Even without their black robes, Harry, Ron, and Hermione didn't look like natives. Their jeans and long-sleeved shirts might have been suitable for English weather, but here it marked them as outsiders. Guards kept the crowds back, but they could not stop the whispering that followed the prisoners all the way to the gates of the palace.

If the city was overwhelming, the palace itself was simply breathtaking. The heavy stone walls were sheathed in gold, and the gates themselves were carved ornately with hieroglyphics and other symbols. The guards prodded Harry, Ron, and Hermione forward with their spears as they stood there gaping. For all their size, the gates slid open smoothly. With a sudden clatter, the horses swept into the courtyard.

* * *

Seth slid off his horse and allowed one of the grooms to take the stallion to the stables. He glanced back at the trio of prisoners, who were now watching him warily. The boys eyed him with blatant dislike. The girl though…It was only when he heard someone calling his name that he realized he was still standing in the courtyard. He focused in time to see Mahaad hurrying down the steps of the palace, one hand instinctively straying to the Millennium Ring.

"Mahaad," Seth greeted in a neutral tone. Before Bakura, there had been harsh competition between the two of them. Shared stress and heartache had drawn them closer together, and the sight of the other priest no longer rankled. Much.

Mahaad, however, did not seem to be in the mood for reminiscing. "Who are they?" he inquired, nodding at the three strange teenagers standing in a circle of guards.

"I found them in the desert."

Mahaad eyed the strange clothing the prisoners were wearing. "Such heavy fabric is hardly wise for the desert."

"When I found them, they were wearing thick robes."

Mahaad raised an eyebrow incredulously. "Not the Thief King's then."

"No," Seth agreed. "I think this is something entirely different." He stepped a little closer to the other priest. "Mahaad, how does Pharaoh?"

"He is well," Mahaad answered, just as carefully. "Why?"

"Because I think he was expecting them."

Mahaad's face was skeptical. "Do you have proof of this?"

"Call it an intuition," Seth said. "But I will take them before Pharaoh immediately."

Mahaad nodded. He called to the guards, who began to herd the prisoners up the stairs. Mahaad looked at each one carefully as they walked by. The girl and the boy with the strange red hair looked distinctly nervous. The black-haired boy just looked angry.

With the priests behind them and the soldiers surrounding them, Ron, Harry, and Hermione entered the hall.

* * *

The throne room was magnificent, and Hermione started to study the hieroglyphs despite herself. It was massive and lined with marble, the ceiling nearly a hundred feet overhead. Lavish decorations lined both walls. Scribes with tablets and sheets of papyrus stood nearby, and Hermione could see soldiers stationed at regular points around the room. The court, dressed in extravagant clothes (some of which Hermione was embarrassed to note were nearly transparent), began to murmur in astonishment as the trio stumbled towards the throne at the far end.

It was this throne that caught Hermione's attention. It was gold and elaborately decorated, just as the rest of the palace was, but its chief attraction was its occupant. The pharaoh sat regally, arms resting upon either arm of the chair. He was short and slender, but nonetheless clearly a king. Gold glimmered from both wrists, and a golden collar sheathed his throat. His tunic was exquisitely worked linen, slightly (Hermione was pleased to note) less see-through than the clothing of his court.

It was the face, however, that drew her stare. His angular face, a deep tan, was undeniably regal. His hair was a mixture of black, red, and gold, wild and uncontrolled beneath his golden crown. It should have looked like he'd put his finger in an electrical outlet and got fried. It didn't. And his eyes…Hermione gasped, and she heard similar sounds from her friends beside her.

The pharaoh's eyes were the color of blood.

Their captor and the other priest stepped past the prisoners and sank to one knee. Under the prodding of the guards, Ron, Harry, and Hermione followed them down. The pharaoh spoke. His voice was deep and majestic, like his appearance. But his words were incomprehensible.

"I'm sorry," Hermione squeaked nervously. "We don't understand you."

The pharaoh frowned and turned his head to the blue-eyed priest. A flurry of conversation followed, and the pharaoh's gaze softened slightly. His hand drifted to a huge golden pyramid that hung upside from a chain around his neck. A gold light played around the throats and ears of the prisoners before disappearing as suddenly as it had come.

Then the Pharaoh leaned forward slightly and his crimson eyes hardened once again.

"Now," he said, in perfect English. "Who are you, and what brings you to my throne?"


	3. Chapter 3

"A translation spell," Hermione said in an awed whisper to her friends. "That's very powerful magic. I don't know anyone outside the Ministry who performs it. Well, except for Dumbledore maybe."

"Speak!" commanded the pharaoh. His tone made it clear he would brook no more hesitation.

Quite by accident, Hermione found herself the spokesman…uh…woman…for the trio. She cleared her throat nervously.

"Um…" How do you address a pharaoh? "Great Pharaoh, my name is Hermione, and this is Ron and Harry." She pointed at each boy in turn. "And we were drawn here quite by accident."

"That and by the spears of your guards," Harry growled.

Hermione and Ron threw him frightened looks. The two kneeling priests stood with a single fluid motion, their eyes narrowing at this rudeness to their king. The guards took a step forward, their grips tightening on the aforementioned spears.

"What I mean is," Hermione continued desperately, "is that we aren't from Egypt at all."

"That is readily apparent," the pharaoh said, waving at his guards to stand down. "But where then are you from?"

Hermione gulped and glanced at the guards and courtiers. She was reluctant to speak of time travel in the presence of so many people. One of the guards prodded her in the back with the butt of his spear.

"Answer Pharaoh!"

She took a deep breath and met the king's eyes. "I would prefer to speak to his Majesty alone," she said bravely.

The blue-eyed priest opened his mouth to protest, but subsided at a gesture. The pharaoh looked at Hermione, and she felt suddenly like fingers were prodding at her soul. There was a moment of complete silence as he considered her and the trio held their breath.

"Out."

The effect was immediate. The courtiers bowed low and made for the door, though the murmuring was at a fever pitch now. The guards hesitated, but the pharaoh dismissed them with a wave of his hand.

"I am not defenseless," he rumbled, cutting off their protests. By unspoken agreement, the priests, however, remained where they were. The blue-eyed priest took up a position to the Pharaoh's right, while his companion flanked his king on the other side. Standing there, one gripping the golden rod tightly and the other touching his fingers to a round golden pendant around his neck, they looked tense and ready for action. And given their lack of weapons, surprisingly dangerous.

An image of the rod glowing and his hand rising up to jinx his friends rose up in Harry's mind. He shivered. _Not without a weapon after all._

When the guards and courtiers had gone, the pharaoh returned his gaze to Hermione's face. "Speak," he commanded again in a softer tone.

"Well…" Hermione began. She told the pharaoh the story of the lecture Professor Binns had been giving and the bright light they had seen, Harry and Ron jumping in every so often to clarify. When she spoke about the voice they had heard, the pharaoh sat up a little straighter on his throne.

"A voice?" he said. "What exactly did it say?"

Between the three of them, Harry, Ron, and Hermione managed to reproduce more or less the wording. The Pharaoh sat back and he closed his eyes for a moment. He actually sighed. Was that relief? His lips moved slightly, like he was praying. When he opened his eyes again, he smiled. The atmosphere lightened markedly.

"I apologize for your less than gentle treatment. This is Mahaad," he added, gesturing to the priest on his left, the one with the large golden pendant. "You've already met Seth."

Mahaad smiled at them, but Seth only nodded coolly.

It was then that Harry's temper finally frayed. "Is it your practice to capture all travelers?"

Pharaoh gazed at him a moment, and Harry had the uncomfortable feeling that the man was reading his soul. "In your case, a precaution," the king said at last. "Conditions are such that it is prudent to be careful."

"What conditions? What's wrong?" Ron blurted.

Pharaoh shook his head. "Now is not the time for such conversation. Seth," he said, turning his head back to the priest. "Have rooms prepared for our guests. Make sure they lack for nothing."

Seth bowed. "Yes, my Pharaoh." He strode to the doors at the end of the hall, flung them open, and spoke sharply to an unseen person waiting outside. A well-dressed servant entered the hall and stood waiting just inside the door.

"We shall speak further at a later time," Pharaoh added to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "For now, rest and recover from your journey."

"Thank you," Hermione said, echoed by Harry and Ron. All three bowed awkwardly and made their way to the door where the servant waited. He too bowed and led them from the hall.

* * *

"So what do you think?" Ron asked the other two as they surveyed their quarters. They were luxurious, paved with marble tiles colored a sea green. The massive bed in the center of the room was draped with cool linen, looking crisp and inviting despite the heat of the day. The room boasted a balcony; from its height, the trio could look down on the river Nile and watch the colorful ships moving up and down, the tiny figures of sailors working busily on their decks. There was water in a silver pitcher on a silver tray, and a bowl of fresh, ripe fruit. There was even a connecting bathroom with a huge marble tub and a full-length mirror. All in all, a room fit for a king.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione might have enjoyed it more if they hadn't been virtual prisoners within its walls. It was several hours now since they had arrived at the palace, and they were a little more rested and refreshed, but no less unsure.

"It was nice of Pharaoh to put us up in rooms like this," Hermione said, tentatively smoothing down the Egyptian clothing that the servant had provided for her. The fabric was a bit more sheer than she was used to, and it had the annoying tendency to cling to her body when she moved. But she had to admit, it was vastly more comfortable in the heat than jeans and a long-sleeved shirt.

Ron and Harry were looking equally strange, dressed in tunics, cloaks, and slippers. The cloth was fine linen, and slightly transparent. Each was decorated with intricately embroidered hieroglyphs. The boys moved around in them, testing out the feeling of wearing what were essentially sleeveless dresses.

Harry snorted. "Sure, the pharaoh was nice enough, but I get the feeling his priests aren't too happy to have us around."

"Hey, that one guy was nice," Ron protested. "Mahaad, or whatever his name was."

"Seth was nice too!" Hermione objected. "He was only trying to help me back in the desert."

The boys looked at her like she was from a different planet. "Nice?" they said simultaneously, wearing twin looks of disbelief. "Hermione," Harry said. "He's about as friendly as Snape!"

"Plus, the guy's got a stick up his butt the size of…the size of…" Ron trailed off, clearly unable to think of something big enough.

"The Nile?" a familiar voice suggested from the doorway. They looked up so fast that it gave them whiplash. Seth himself was standing in the door, the rod clenched in his hand and eyes narrowed. Was it Harry's imagination, or did he also see a glimpse of wicked humor? "Or maybe a Pyramid?"

The three jumped to their feet. "I'm so sorry," Hermione babbled, "It was just a joke, you know, we didn't mean…"

Seth cut through the babble with a curt gesture. "Pharaoh wishes to see you all in the library immediately."

Hermione gulped. "Thank you," she squeaked. Seth turned on his heel and was about to depart when she spoke up again. "Um…where is the library?"

Seth sighed irritably, as though he had plenty of things that would be a better use of his time than escorting a bunch of foreign teenagers around the palace, especially ones who had just insulted him. (Even if it was true.)

"Follow," he said shortly, then swept off down the hall. Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged a guilty look before running down the hallway to catch up.

* * *

"I have brought them, my king," Seth said, shoving the heavy door of the library open. The Pharaoh was seated at a table near the center of the room, a number of scrolls lying open before him.

"Ah yes," he said to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "Welcome. Take a seat. I trust you are refreshed?" Without a word, Seth took up a position against the wall, his hand gripping the golden rod. Hesitantly, the trio took seats at the other end of the table.

"Yes, thank you," Hermione muttered timidly. The three of them waited; Pharaoh was in charge of this conversation; it would be up to him to make the first move.

"First, I wish to return these to you," Pharaoh said, drawing three slender sticks of wood from beneath his chair and sliding them across the table. "I hope you understand that they were taken from you as a matter of caution." Ron, Harry, and Hermione grabbed the wands, only then realizing that they now lacked belts on which to store them. They compensated by laying the wands in their laps.

Pharaoh watched the movement with an amused smile. "I will send servants to remedy that," he said, nodding towards their wands. "I must confess I am curious as to how they work. Are they the source of your power, or do they simply channel it?"

"You can't cast spells without wands," Ron blurted out. He paused. "But witches and wizards _are_ different than Muggles, so..." Harry and Hermione stared at him. They didn't know yet if they could trust this man, and here Ron was spilling wizard secrets.

Pharaoh raised an eyebrow. "Muggles?" The word did not translate into any word that the Egyptian king was familiar with.

"Non-magic users," Harry said.

"Pharaoh," Hermione interrupted. "If you don't mind me asking…why is it that you are so interested in us?"

The pharaoh sighed. "Perhaps now would be a good time to explain my situation." In his quiet, magnificent baritone, he proceeded to explain about the Thief King Bakura. His eyes narrowed as he described the atrocities that the man had committed, and at one point in the narrative, he glanced at Seth, a look of pity flashing briefly across his face. For his part, Seth stood stock-still, his free hand clenched into a fist. But when Harry stared at him, he lifted his gaze challengingly, and the brief flash of emotion disappeared. The Pharaoh did not explain the incident, but continued on smoothly as though there had been no interruption.

"If I could face Bakura in direct confrontation, I could destroy him," he finished grimly. "But I am unable to track him down, and every day his power grows." He stared into their faces, holding them spellbound. "I prayed for the gods for aid, and I believe they sent me you." He leaned forward slightly. "Your description of the three beings that brought you here coincide with the appearances of Obelisk the Tormenter, Slifer the Sky Dragon, and the Winged Dragon of Ra. Three of the Egyptian gods."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat in silence for a while, trying to absorb this new piece of information. Finally, Harry spoke. "Are you saying your gods summoned us to ancient Egypt in answer to a prayer?"

"But what can we do to help?" Hermione interrupted anxiously. "We're just students, back in our own time. I mean…we want to help..."

Pharaoh shook his head. "I don't know. All I know is that the gods will reveal all in their own time." He smiled slightly. "Until then, we will just have to muddle our way through. I am seeking an answer from these ancient texts, but such a search will take time." He sighed. "For now, return to your quarters. In time, I will introduce you to the other members of my court. We shall all concentrate our efforts on discovering the reason that you are here. You may be the key to winning this war."

_No pressure, _Harry thought grimly. It seemed he was to be drawn into another magical conflict, where failure could mean death, or worse. Speaking of…

"And if we lose?" he asked. "What is at stake?"

The pharaoh gazed at him solemnly. "The world," he said simply. "If we lose, it will be the end of the world as we know it."

Harry felt his stomach lurch. Why did stuff like this always have to happen to _him?_

When the trio had gone, Seth stepped forward to stand at his king's side. "Do you really think that was wise, revealing so much of our power and position to those three?"

Pharaoh sighed. "We don't have a choice, Seth. It is as I have said: "those three," as you call them, may be the only hope we have of defeating Bakura and saving Egypt."

_Or they will be the means of destroying it_, Seth thought. _The gods are fickle, my king. May you never learn that to your sorrow._


	4. Chapter 4

"Your Majesty, I have news from the capital."

Bakura turned to glare at the flunky and gestured impatiently with the blade. The man gulped. "Well?"

The man faltered briefly, then found his courage. "There are guests at the palace."

Bakura snorted and returned to his task. "There are always guests at the palace. This is not news, Harak."

Harak allowed himself a small smirk. "These are different from the rest, my king. That thrice-damned Blue Eyes drove them into the city today. He encountered them on patrol."

Bakura turned back to the thief, mildly more interested. Most people encountered on patrol were summarily executed these days, at least those who could not adequately explain their presence. Few honest people traveled in times of war. Seth – that "thrice-damned Blue Eyes" – was not known for his mercy.

Harak, confident that he now had his leader's attention, continued. "According to my source, these three were taken to the palace. It is rumored that they come from another land entirely, my lord, and maybe even…" He paused dramatically. "another _realm_, if you understand me."

Bakura raised an eyebrow. "Are these the comments of the crowd, or your own conceptions?"

Harak dared to shrug. "They were dressed in heavy clothes quite unsuitable for desert. And I have learned that the pharaoh has taken a great interest in their welfare." He smirked. "Perhaps he is desperate for divine help, since he's so helpless before us."

Bakura fingered the edge of his knife and contemplated throwing it across the room to lodge in the other man's throat. He decided against it. He had spent a long time sharpening this knife; it would not do to spoil the effort. Instead, he fixed Harak with a cold stare.

"This information is all but useless to me," he growled. "You have learned nothing, yet you attempt to mask rumors as something important."

"But…Bakura…" the man stammered.

Bakura raised a hand. "Your second mistake was presuming to be so familiar with me as to use my name. You are not my friend. You are my slave."

"Yes, my lord," Harak said, his face going gray with fear. He dropped to his knees. "Please forgive me, your Majesty. I…"

Bakura cut him off again. "Enough. I have heard all from you I wish to hear." With a smooth, unhurried motion, he rose from his seat and sauntered over to the trembling man on the ground. His tone was cool and level, but Harak cowered still more, as though Bakura were a venomous snake. "Find me more, Harak, and perhaps I will be willing to overlook your failing."

The thief lurched to his feet. He even dared smile a little in relief. Bakura quelled another desire to lodge a dagger in Harak's throat. "Thank you, thank you," he said. "I swear I shall do better."

"Then why are you still here?"

The thief almost tripped over his own feet in his hurry to leave the cave. Bakura laughed and sat down again, resuming his work on the dagger blade. The news _was_ intriguing. Perhaps there was something to be gained here, some foothold these mysterious guests could help Bakura to exploit. Or, perhaps there was something to be feared.

Bakura sneered. Unlikely, but then again, miracles happened. The pharaoh was steadfastly predictable, but the powers he commanded were not. Bakura checked the blade again. It was sharp enough.

* * *

When Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered the throne room, Pharaoh sat on his golden chair at the far end, conversing with a man the trio had never seen before. The man was elderly, but nothing in his bearing connoted frailty. As the trio approached, he bowed to Pharaoh stiffly and took a step or two back. It was then that Harry, Ron, and Hermione saw that a glimmer of gold replaced one of his eyes. The living eye stared at them coldly. They were comforted to see that Mahaad stood beside his king, and he flashed them a friendly smile as they tentatively walked the length of the hall. The courtiers around them muttered at their entrance. Seth stood on the other side of the throne, and though his eyes swept over them speculatively, he did not smile.

"Welcome," Pharaoh said, nodding to them. "Harry, Ron, Hermione, this is the Lord Aknadin, wielder of the Millennium Eye." He swept a hand in the direction of the elderly priest, who now nodded his own greeting. The pharaoh gestured, and three more shapes stepped forward from where they had been partially concealed in the shadows of the throne. "These are my other High Priests: Shaada," a bald man carrying a strangely shaped golden key nodded at them, "Karim," a man who seemed traditionally Egyptian in appearance and who carried a pair of golden scales smiled, "and Isis." The woman was slender, her dark hair partially concealed by the white hood of her robe. She had a golden necklace around her neck, decorated with the same Eye of Horus (Hermione had taken the time to explain the significance of the symbol to the other two) that adorned the other Millennium Items.

"Greetings," she said in a sweet clear voice.

The Pharaoh returned his attention to the trio standing at the base of his throne. "I have summoned you to witness a Millennium Trial."

A wave of whispers spread throughout the room. Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at each other nervously. A trial?

The Pharaoh's voice boomed out, causing instant silence. "Bring in the prisoner!"

The guards saluted, then pulled open the huge double doors. A man was forced through, prodded by at least a dozen spears. His hands were tied behind his back, and he was clad in nothing more than filthy rags. As he approached the throne, the man lifted his head proudly. His black hair clung to his head in filthy mats, but his dark eyes glinted as though _he _were the king in place of the man who sat upon the throne.

"I live for the day when I shall see you whimpering on the ground like the dog you are, snot-nosed brat," he spat at Pharaoh as he was forced to his knees. "You will scream for mercy and beg to die before the end. I will see you choke on your own blood!"

There was a cry of rage from the priests and surrounding courtiers. One of the guards jabbed his spear into the man's side. Blood poured from the wound and the prisoner snarled in pain. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stared, mouths gaping open slightly at the hatred in the man's expression. All looked to Pharaoh, waiting for his reaction.

"Akakios," Pharaoh said. "I trust you are enjoying the courtesy of my hall."

His cool tone only infuriated the man more. "Damn your _courtesy_!" His eyes ticked to Seth, and his snarling mouth changed to a cruel smile. "As for you, Blue Eyes, the Thief King sends his greetings. He says that when the palace falls, he will be sure to set aside some time to deal with you personally. Just like he dealt with your slut of a…"

There was a resounding crack and Akakios' scream died rapidly into a wheezing whine. Seth had taken a step forward, and the onlookers gasped in horror at the inhuman fury in his eyes. The Millennium Rod glowed brightly. Akakios screamed again. Seth smirked.

"Seth!" The word, imbued with power and command, cut through the air. Seth was swept from his feet and slammed into the wall, the glow from the Millennium Rod fading away. He was standing again in an instant, and for a second, his hate-filled eyes turned to Pharaoh. The other priests moved in front of him protectively. Then Seth took a deep breath and the expression faded. His arms dropped to his sides and he closed his eyes for a moment, fighting for control.

Akakios lay on the floor, panting. With horrendous effort, he forced himself to his knees again and managed a shaky grin. "Yes, Pharaoh. Control your _pet_."

"Enough!" Pharaoh said. His gaze encompassed both the man on the ground and the priest now standing still and silent beside the throne. Seth's face was deliberately bland, and he met the scrutiny steadily. Pharaoh focused once more on Akakios. "Let the Millennium Trial begin!"

The first priest, the elderly but stern Lord Aknadin, stepped forward. He raised his hand to the golden eye that had replaced one of his living brown ones. "I will now use the power of the Millennium Eye to see into this man's mind!" he cried. The Millennium Eye glowed with a cruel golden light. Akakios glared back at him hatefully.

Aknadin hesitated for a moment, then turned to Pharaoh and said carefully, "It is as with all the others, my king." Pharaoh nodded as though resigned, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged curious looks. What did the old priest mean?

Aknadin took several steps to the side, and the next priest, Karim – _or was it Shaada? _Harry couldn't remember – took his place. This man raised the pair of golden scales. "I will use the power of the Millennium Scales to measure the evil in this man's soul!" The Scales glowed with the same golden light. As though under the influence of an invisible load, the left-hand balance dropped abruptly.

"I find that the weight of evil presses closely upon his soul!" the priest cried. "Let all who see him judge him rightly." He retreated.

Another priest stepped up. Shaada – _or Karim _– raised the strange golden key. "I will use the power of my Millennium Key to probe this man's soul and discover the form of the evil within."

There was a flash, and then suddenly, a monstrous, shadowy form was rearing up above Akakios. Its skin was blue, and its bald, bulbous head turned to look at the priest before it. Its eyes gleamed with malice; in taloned hands it clutched a broken doll. A murmur swept through the court. "Dark Necrofear. A powerful monster." Even Shaada's face grew a little pale as he stumbled back to his place.

There was a hush as Seth stepped forward. He showed no fear of the creature before him; he hardly appeared to notice it. Akakios drew back; the hatred that contorted his face was now tinged almost imperceptibly with fear. But he still glared at the other man defiantly as Seth stood for a moment looking down at him in silence.

"I will never give Bakura that satisfaction," Seth said at last in a quiet, measured tone. Then he raised his voice and the Millennium Rod in his hand. "And now to seal the monster away where it belongs!" Behind Akakios, a team of guards had just finished hauling a huge stone tablet into position. Dark Necrofear turned to glance at it, then, without warning, sprang at Seth. Seth did not flinch away. Instead, he shouted out an arcane word, and the Millennium Rod glowed. The magic wrapped around the monster and dragged it towards the slab. With a grunt of effort, Seth thrust the Rod out. The monster shrieked as the stone enveloped it. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione gasped. The stone tablet was now carved with a perfect image of the monster, right down to the malice in its eyes. Akakios slumped down, only the grip of the guards on his shoulders keeping him upright at all.

Seth's eyes narrowed, and he said to the guards in a clear, ringing voice. "Take this scum away to the dungeons for questioning. Let him enjoy our _courtesy _a little longer."

"Yes my lord," the guards chorused, before dragging the semi-conscious Akakios from the room.

"What did Aknadin mean when he that it was like all the others?" Harry demanded after the prisoner was out of sight. "And who was that man?"

Pharaoh waved a hand, and the courtiers filed out the doors of the hall. When they were alone, he sighed. "That man was one of the Thief King's followers. We were fortunate; Akakios is one of Bakura's most trusted servants. Usually, the Millennium Eye lends Aknadin the ability to read the minds of others. But something _blocks_ our efforts. Though we can access their minds, something prevents us from gleaning the _location_, or indeed anything useful, of the Thief King from his men. I fear that Bakura has discovered magic of enough power to counter even the Millennium Items. If so, he is even more dangerous than we have suspected."

"Don't you have other ways you could, you know…get information?" Ron asked.

Seth nodded. "We do. But they are more unreliable. A man under torture cannot always be trusted to speak the truth."

Ron blanched. The priest spoke so casually of torture, as though it were a matter of course.

Mahaad caught the expression. "Desperate times call for desperate measures," he said gently. "We do not enjoy what we must do."

_I bet Seth does, _Harry thought sourly. Seth had done nothing to allay Harry's distrust of him; the scene he had just witnessed was enough to give him a stomachache.

Hermione was thinking of the same thing, but what she wanted to know was _why _Seth had reacted so violently. What had Akakios said that had made the priest lose control so completely?

The pharaoh and his priests spoke then of other things, administrative tasks that bore little interest for Harry, Ron, and Hermione. How much food should be planted, and what kind, how much money should be invested in various civil projects, etc. Harry and Ron soon found themselves nodding off, and they sat down on the steps and tried to entertain themselves by staring at the decorations on the walls and ceilings. Hermione, however, listened with fascination. This was an incredible opportunity, the opportunity to witness history in action. The pharaoh listened intently as the priests talked, occasionally asking a question, then making a decision.

This seemed to be an unusual court, Hermione realized. Though dressed like priests, the six other wielders of the Millennium Items functioned more like advisors. Seth's role in particular resembled that of a vizier: the second-in-command, charged with the day-to-day running of the kingdom. The pharaoh permitted the priests an inordinate amount of freedom to speak their minds, not expecting or even seeming to desire that they agree with him all the time, though he alone could make an executive decision. Isis, the sole priestess, was treated with great respect by the others, and even slight subservience by Shaada and Karim. Hermione didn't know a whole lot offhand about the pharaohs, but this seemed odd for an ancient civilization.

After several hours of this, Isis rose from the seat the servants had brought her and bowed gracefully. "With your permission, my king, I will depart. I wish to try to catch a glimpse of the future using my Millennium Necklace."

"With your leave, I will depart as well," Seth said, likewise rising from his chair.

The pharaoh nodded graciously, then turned with a small smile to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "You must be bored by this discussion," he said. "Until the meal is served, feel free to explore the palace. I will assign someone as a guide for you."

There was a chorus of thank yous. "Pharaoh," Hermione asked somewhat timidly. "May I return to the library?"

He nodded. "Of course." The doors opened as Seth and Isis departed and a servant slipped inside. "Escort our guest to the library," Pharaoh commanded. The servant bowed and beckoned for Hermione to follow. The pharaoh looked at Harry and Ron. "Is there anything that _you _would wish to see?"

Ron shrugged, but Harry nodded. "Actually, I was hoping I could talk more with you about Bakura. I don't think we'll be able to return to our own time unless we figure out how to stop him."

Ron looked a little guilty that he had not thought of this. Pharaoh smiled, and even Aknadin nodded approvingly. "We would be honored to have your opinion," Mahaad replied. They sat down again, and began to plan.

* * *

Hermione had to work hard to keep from salivating as the servant led her into the massive library. She had been here earlier, of course, but had been occupied with meeting with Pharaoh. She hadn't had time to really _explore_.

Slowly, reverently, she pulled a scroll from a cubby in the wall and carefully unrolled it. And let out an involuntary cry of dismay.

She couldn't read it! Hermione looked around her in despair. This room contained the wealth of the Egyptian culture, a huge store of information on every conceivable topic. Here was a chance to learn an incredible amount about the world she was now in, to explore history from the original sources. And she couldn't read any of it!

"What's wrong?"

Hermione pulled herself out of her daze to see Seth seated at a small table she hadn't noticed before. There was a small mountain of scrolls on the table in front of him, and he held another in his hands. He gazed at her with a small glimmer of concern.

"I am in one of the greatest libraries in the ancient world and I can't read anything!" Hermione cried.

A small smile twitched at the corner of Seth's mouth. "The translation spell does not extend to the written word, I'm afraid."

Hermione groaned. Seth cocked his head. "You like to read?"

"Like to? I love to," she said, feeling a pang of longing as she gazed around the library again. So many scrolls… A glimmer of an idea came to her. "Maybe…maybe you could…read to me? I mean, if it's not too much trouble," she added hastily.

Seth raised an eyebrow. "Or I could just extend the spell."

"Oh." Hermione felt her face flush a violent shade of red. The solution seemed so simple…he probably thought she was some kind of idiot, a helpless girl who was given to fainting and love-struck mooning. "That would work too."

Seth was still looking at her, and Hermione realized she needed to change the subject. "What are _you_ reading?"

Now it was Seth's turn to flush. It gave some life to his pale cheeks. "My time would be better spent trying to discover a way to defeat Bakura," he said, rolling up the scroll.

"No," she said. "Don't stop reading because of me! I believe that everything you read can be useful …" She trailed off. "If you extend the spell, I'll help you research."

He was staring at her speculatively, as though not quite sure what to think about her. But he waved her forward. "Come then."

She took a few steps forward, and gasped as he suddenly stood – he was so tall – and laid his hand on her forehead. "Close your eyes."

She did, and felt his cool fingers touch her eyelids. He murmured something, and even through her closed eyes, she could see the glow of the Millennium Rod. He released her and stepped back, and Hermione opened her eyes.

Now, when she picked up one of the scrolls, the writing was magnificently clear. She glanced at the small strip of ribbon tied to the scroll in her hand; it said _Scroll of Seeking_. Another nearby said simply _Location Magic._ There was also a map of the desert around the capital, places circled and crossed out. Curious now, she leaned over to catch a glimpse of the scroll Seth had been reading before her entrance. It said _A History of the Pharaohs, with Particular Focus on the Role of Magic_. Not an imaginative title, but the topic sounded fascinating. Judging by Seth's expression, he agreed. But he hastily put the scroll back in its cubby and cleared a space on the table for her.

"Thank you for letting me help…for helping me," she said as he sat down again.

He shook his head. "Pharaoh trusts you, and he thinks you might be able to help us. I trust _him_. That's all."

She wanted to ask him about the incident in the throne room, but decided against it for the time being. Instead, she sat down and pulled the map of Egypt towards her. "What makes these places more likely than others?" she asked, pointing at the circled areas.

If Seth was surprised by her brisk attitude, he didn't show it. "Those are places that we know the Thief King has visited," Seth said. Hermione looked up at him and he elaborated. "Some we learned about from…questioning his men, others we discovered for ourselves. But always after he was already gone."

Hermione examined the map. "So the only way to catch him would be to anticipate where he's going to go next."

"My thoughts exactly."

"And that means," Hermione continued, "That we need to find a pattern."

"Or capture him here," Seth pointed out. "But that is proving difficult."

"What do you mean?"

Seth sighed. "He's been to the palace before." His face tightened, and he glanced away, taking a deep breath. "He eludes us."

"Maybe I can help with that," Hermione said. "Detection spells, warding…though you've probably done that already."

Seth shrugged. "More wouldn't hurt."

Hermione hesitated. She wanted to broach the subject of his evident hatred for the Thief King, but wasn't sure how best to begin. She didn't want to ruin the tentative rapport that seemed to have sprung up between them. "Seth…" He looked at her. What…what happened last time he came to the palace?"

He was silent for a long time. Finally, he spoke, his voice cool. "I should look for the pattern in the Thief King's movements. You may stay if you wish to help."

Hermione nodded, feeling gloomy. Both returned to studying the map, but he no longer looked at her, or even talked much. He answered her questions politely enough, but it became clear after a little while that they weren't making much progress. They could find no visible connection between the Thief King's previous locations, let alone predict where he might go next. After perhaps two or three hours, Seth stood up and straightened his robes.

"I must attend to my other duties," he said. "You may of course remain here, or I can call a servant to escort you elsewhere in the palace."

"Thank you," Hermione said. "I can find my way."

He nodded, reminded her to put the scrolls away when she was finished, then turned on his heel and departed.

Hermione sat for a moment, staring after him. There was a mystery here, and she was determined to unravel it. All the same, she felt a pang of sadness that her question had served to alienate her from someone she found herself wanting to be closer to.

* * *

Back in his quarters, Seth leaned against a wall and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force away the wave of unpleasant memories that was crowding into his mind. Grief and anger rose up to choke him, and he breathed deeply, trying to bring himself back under control.

Akakios' face rose up in his mind, and he felt another surge of fury. He fought that down too, reaching inside himself as Master Aknadin had taught him, seeking a cool, calm center beneath the tangled emotions. Emotions that that…that _girl_ had brought up again. Since the trio's arrival, he had been forced to remember, to relieve, the horrible events of the past year more often than he would have liked. Before they had come, he had managed to suppress the pain, to face the problem of the Thief King coolly, rationally.

He didn't need this pain. He didn't need these emotions. He didn't need these memories.

But was it right for him to forget?

_I wish you were here_, he thought. _I need you now more than ever. Guide me!_

But as always, there was no reply.


	5. Chapter 5

"The people are afraid."

Pharaoh sighed and kneaded his forehead with his fingers. "I know, Mahaad, but I can think of no way to reassure them. Until we find a way to stop the Thief King, there will be no true safety." A night of rest hadn't done much to improve his mood.

"Sometimes…" Aknadin said suddenly, stepping forward. The younger priests moved aside respectfully to give him room. "Sometimes, the illusion of safety is just as potent as safety itself."

Pharaoh fixed him with a crimson stare. "You have an idea, Aknadin?"

The old priest nodded slowly. "Have a banquet tonight. Make it elaborate, lavish. Fill the halls with the sound of merry-making, and perhaps even invite some commoners to join us. A little acting on our part, and within days the guests will spread the word throughout the land that the Great Pharaoh is confident and relaxed. They will believe that they are safe.

"But they will not be," Shaada protested, "Until, as Pharaoh says, we find a way to capture Bakura."

Aknadin waved that away as though it were a paltry concern. "It will do us no good to search for Bakura if the population panics," he said slowly, as one does to a small child. "Of course, there is also a chance that Bakura will be tempted to show himself. If so, then we will have no need to go in search of him."

Pharaoh considered it. Despite the recent violence, Egypt was still the wealthiest country in the known world. The treasury could certainly sustain a lavish party. And Aknadin's arguments made sense.

"Mahaad," he said, turning to his head of security. "We will need to take every measure to ensure that this banquet will not turn into a bloodbath. I trust _you _to make the necessary arrangements."

The priest bowed. "You can count on me."

Pharaoh smiled. "I know I can. Has Isis emerged from the Millennium Chamber yet?" A vision of the future at this point would certainly help.

Mahaad shook his head. "No, my king." He smiled slightly. Mahaad and Isis were close friends, and lovers too, if you believed the rumors. It was certainly true that Mahaad's face lit up ever so slightly every time he mentioned the priestess' name. "She is still trying to access the power of the Millennium Necklace."

Pharaoh nodded. "Hopefully, she will be able to help us plan our next move." He glanced around. "And our guests?"

"Resting in their chambers," Shaada said promptly. One of the servants was keeping an eye on the trio, making sure they stayed out of trouble and also reporting their movements to the priests. "They are not accustomed to the heat."

"Seth is in his chambers as well," Mahaad said with a frown. "It is unusual for him to have not made an appearance."

Pharaoh frowned as well. "Have you spoken with him?" Usually, Seth avoided his quarters like the plague. Pharaoh had often threatened to have the guards drag him to bed forcibly, since the young priest had been known to spend all night in the library or in the throne room. He woke at the crack of dawn and could be found working not long after.

Mahaad hesitated. "No."

"Very well," Pharaoh said. "Then _I _shall talk with him." He pretended not to notice the priest's audible sigh of relief. "If we are to have a banquet tonight, there is much work to do." He clapped his hands. "Go with the gods' blessing."

The priests moved quickly to the doors of the throne room, already intent on the many things that would have to be done for the night's events. Pharaoh took a moment to thank the gods that he had advisors like these, people who could be counted on to plan and execute any task, and to do it well.

But now to track down a certain priest.

He stood up and stretched luxuriously. As he rose from the throne, he could feel himself becoming, not free, exactly, but less a king. More Atem than Pharaoh. It felt good. Always, the problem of Bakura lurked in the back of his mind, and the crown still weighed down his head, but he decided to focus on Seth for now, an old friend, and leave the rest for later. The notion was attractive.

With a wave of his hand and a quick call on his magic, he cast a small illusion on himself. A moment later, the doors of the throne room creaked open, and a small, unassuming servant slipped out. He trotted down the corridors, head bowed, avoiding making eye contact with anyone. People glanced at him, but just as quickly let their gazes slide away. Atem felt a surge of glee at being ignored.

"You! Servant!"

At first, Atem didn't realize that it was _him_ being addressed. It took a magical blow to his shoulder to make him spin around to face one of the palace's petty priests. Not one of the Millennium Wielders, who would have seen through the illusion. Atem didn't recognize this one by sight. Apparently, the man didn't appreciate being so frankly appraised by a servant. He raised a hand, and a bolt of pain shot through Pharaoh's side. Atem bit his lip to muffle a cry.

"Don't stand about idly!" the priest snapped. "Go to the kitchens! There is much to do for Pharaoh's feast tonight. He does not tolerate lazy slaves!"

Atem stiffened and prepared to offer the instinctive retort: How did this petty priest know the wishes of Pharaoh better than Pharaoh himself? Then he remembered he was supposed to be a serving boy, and bowed his head.

"Yes, my lord," he murmured.

This apparently appeased the priest a little, for he settled for scowling and striding off, muttering words of displeasure under his breath. Halfway down the corridor, his face turned green. Atem watched in unholy amusement for a moment or two, then, with a sigh, he reigned in the Shadows. The priest hurried on, his expression slightly less self-righteous.

The servant turned a corner and upgraded to a palace guard. From that point on, no one bothered him. He _did _pass Shaada in the halls, who looked at him strangely, but when Atem did not acknowledge him, the priest continued on, accepting that his king did not wish to be recognized.

It took several minutes, but eventually Atem arrived outside the doors to Seth's quarters. He hesitated briefly, then squared his shoulders and knocked on the door. He was Pharaoh. It was not for him to feel awkward for questioning a subordinate!

He smiled wryly. He hadn't thought of Seth as merely his subordinate for a very long time.

"Who is it?" Seth's voice was unusually sharp, even for him.

Pharaoh did not answer in words. Instead, he allowed his magic to ooze through the heavy wooden door, knowing that Seth would detect it and recognize it. Sure enough, the door opened moments later. Seth stood in the door, dressed in his robes of office. Pharaoh eyed him carefully. Outwardly, Seth looked fine, but his eyes were glazed with mental preoccupation and inner pain.

Seth raised an eyebrow, but stood back to let Pharaoh in. It was then that Atem realized that he was still wearing the appearance of a palace guard. He waited until the door closed, then cast off the unfamiliar shape.

Seth smirked. "Avoiding your responsibilities, Pharaoh?"

"It's nice," Atem retorted. "You should try it." He glanced around the room. "But perhaps you already are."

Seth's eyes narrowed. "I _have _been working, Pharaoh, examining maps of the Thief King's hideouts. I simply had no desire to interact with my… _esteemed_ colleagues this morning."

"Seth, what's wrong?" Atem asked.

"Do you really need to ask me that?"

"But why now?" Atem pressed. "You seemed…better. Like you were healing."

"The wound is scabbing over," Seth said, in a cool, flat voice. "But it's red-raw underneath, and always will be."

"And Akakios picked away the scab?"

Seth let out a deep breath. "I should not have reacted as I did. It was weakness."

"It was human. You loved her."

"I cannot be human and still fight the Thief King, Atem."

The words, stated as simple fact, struck Atem to the bone. Suddenly he couldn't face the pain in Seth's eyes. He sought for another topic.

"There is to be a feast tonight."

Seth nodded, recognizing the switch from friend to Pharaoh. "So the servants told me."

"There will be food, dancing, music. Aknadin believes it will reassure the people, and if Bakura dares to make an appearance, it will be an opportunity to apprehend him."

Seth nodded again. "Master Aknadin is a wise councilor."

Atem grinned then, his much-repressed mischievous nature briefly shining through. "I shall assign you to cleaning dishes _without magic _if I find you hiding in your room again."

"Then I shall have to find another hiding place."

"I expect your presence."

Seth bowed with an ironic smile. "I will be there." Under his breath, but still audible, he said, "Though I cannot say how long."

* * *

"They don't expect us to actually _wear _this, do they?"

Hermione looked at Ron's appalled face and laughed. "What's wrong? You look fine."

"I look like an idiot," Ron grumbled. He smoothed down the skirt-like garment he was wearing and glanced in a nearby mirror. He wasn't wearing a shirt, only a wide collar that extended down his chest, ending right above his rib cage. The sheer amount of jewelry was astonishing. The slippers he'd been given completed the whole ensemble. Harry was wearing something similar, and scrutinizing himself in the mirror as well. He was uncomfortable with how flimsy the fabric was, and how it clung when he moved.

Hermione hadn't been lying; the boys _did _look fine. Better than fine, actually. Hermione suspected they'd win more than a few admirers at the banquet, despite, or perhaps because of, their foreign appearance. The thought made her strangely jealous, and she mentally cursed teenage hormones. They were problematic. Seth: case in point. She resolutely banished thoughts of him from her mind.

She distracted herself by eyeing the outfit the servants had brought for her to wear. The folds of blue fabric were even more transparent than the ones she now wore, and much more elegant. Gold embroidery studded the whole thing, and a collar of gold worked with precious stones lay on top, along with earrings and bracelets to match. The sandals were delicately worked, looking almost too fancy to be worn.

She carried the pile into the bathroom, and with a sigh, started to change. Five minutes later, she was hopelessly tangled in the wispy fabric.

She was trying to free herself, uttering a few very un-ladylike curses, when she heard a knock at the door. Hermione managed to pull her head free and was surprised to see the priestess Isis standing in the doorway. The boys were nowhere in sight.

The priestess caught sight of Hermione's predicament and laughed. The sound was musical, and completely lacking mockery or malice, which lessened the sting of Hermione's embarrassment a little.

"Here, allow me to help." Hermione nodded helplessly, face bright red.

With a few tugs, the priestess set the outfit to rights. Then, without allowing Hermione to look in the mirror, she picked up a brush and set to taming Hermione's wild hair. She adjusted the gold collar, then turned the girl about to look at her reflection.

Hermione had to admit she looked beautiful. Her hair was surprisingly un-frizzy. The gemstones in the collar set off Hermione's eyes, and the delicate fabric hugged her body in all the right places. It was a little more revealing than Hermione would have ordinarily chosen, but Isis' efforts had rendered it modest enough. She seemed to know how to drape the fabric _just so_.

"Thank you," Hermione said sincerely. Isis nodded an acknowledgement.

"I wish to talk to you," she said.

"About what?"

"Seth."

A warning tingle ran up Hermione's spine. "What about him?"

Isis looked at her gravely. "I have noted your interactions. I fear he will not be able to offer you what you desire."

"I'm not…" Hermione began, but Isis interrupted.

"Do not misunderstand me. I have no claim on him, no reason to wish you other than happiness. But Seth has suffered great loss, great pain. He may not desire, or even be capable, of forming a romantic relationship with you. I do not wish either of you to be hurt."

"What loss?" Hermione asked swiftly.

But Isis only shook her head. "It is not for me to tell you. But think on what I have said."

Hermione drew herself up. "I don't have any interest in forming a _romantic_ relationship with anyone," she said. She hoped what she was saying was true. "When we stop Bakura, I'll be going back home." _Hopefully._

Isis nodded. "I hope so. Well then, I will see you at the banquet."

Then she left. Hermione made her way back into the main room to find the boys staring at her with wide eyes.

"What was _that_ all about?" Harry asked.

Hermione just shook her head. "Nothing." She gestured at the pair of them impatiently. "Come on, we're going to be late!"

The boys exchanged dubious glances, but then they shrugged and, tugging at the heavy collars, followed Hermione out.

* * *

The banquet was spectacular. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood a little to one side and watched as a troupe of dancers whirled and spun, their movements quick and graceful, perfectly matched to the music. The music itself was compelling, a complicated tune created by harps and other string instruments that the boys didn't immediately recognize. The steady beat of drums complemented the whole thing, and the rhythmic sound continued even when the other musicians took short breaks. The trio could feel the vibrations through their feet. They caught sight of a small group of common people, apparently invited from the city to witness the celebration. At least Harry, Ron, and Hermione weren't the only ones with their mouths hanging open.

The food was delicious. The three had never seen so many different varieties of meat outside a supermarket: beef, fish, duck, pork, and several others that they couldn't identify. There was fruit, platters of cheese, lentils, vegetables of every shape and description, and baskets of freshly-baked bread. The guests sat at tables spread throughout the hall, and scantily-clad serving girls carried selections of all the food from table to table. Ron wasted no time digging in. The wine ran freely, and the girls approached to offer some to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. The boys were about to gleefully accept when Hermione gave them a stern look.

"C'mon, Hermione," Ron whined as the girl moved on. "Bet the water in this place is nasty."

"You can wait," Hermione snapped. "We need to have our heads clear."

Harry waved his hand at the banquet going on around him. "For what? It's a _party_, Hermione. We're supposed to be relaxing!"

"This is serious," Hermione muttered, but the next time a serving girl carrying a pitcher came around, she didn't protest as the boys helped themselves to a glass. At the last moment, she snagged one for herself.

The wine tasted good, though it burned a little on the way down. Hermione didn't normally drink wine, so she didn't know if this was unusual or not. But it felt good, and it tasted good, and like Harry said, it _was _a party. She watched the Pharaoh on his golden throne, and he too had a goblet in one hand. He was talking with a beautiful young woman with dark eyes and darker hair, and both were smiling.

_I'm glad he's able to relax, _she thought. Though they had only met recently, she already liked the young king very much. His aura of power was unmistakable, but Hermione thought she detected genuine good humor and nobility beneath it.

She took a bite of the pork. It was well-flavored; Hermione thought she tasted cinnamon. She also took another sip of wine. The music seemed to edge her on. After a while, the boys wandered off to talk to Mahaad, who greeted them with a smile. At least Harry was talking with him; Ron seemed to be ogling one of the passing servant girls.

"Pharaoh wishes to know if you are enjoying yourself."

Hermione whirled, nearly spilling her goblet of wine. Seth stood beside her, hands clasped behind his back, his expression uncomfortable. He was dressed elegantly in blue with gold embroidery. Like Hermione, he wore a heavy golden collar, as well as golden bracelets that sheathed almost the entire forearm. A small part of Hermione's mind, the insane part, began babbling that the outfit set off his eyes magnificently. The Millennium Rod was thrust into an ornamental golden belt. Hermione thought she also glimpsed a dagger beside it, but with the flowing fabric, she couldn't be sure.

"I am," she answered, glancing up at Pharaoh. He had stopped talking with the young woman and was staring at her and Seth, a small, slightly mischievous smile on his face. She looked away.

Seth had followed her gaze. "I suspect he wishes that we talk together," he said wryly, voicing the very thought Hermione had just been having. "He believes that I spend too much time closeted in my room." He looked put out. "He is my king, but he's also damn meddlesome." He realized what he had just said. "I'm sorry. That was…imprudent."

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. The memory hung between them of their meeting in the library the day before.

Finally, the priest sighed and took a seat on the bench beside her. He helped himself to a goblet of wine. "I hate banquets," he said, so softly that Hermione barely heard him. "I'd rather spend my time in the library."

"Then why do you come?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Why do I do anything? Because Pharaoh orders it."

She attempted humor. "So you only read because the pharaoh orders it?"

He shot her a sideways glance. "Perhaps not everything." His cheeks were slightly flushed, Hermione noticed. Was it because of the wine? Or because of something else?

She changed the subject. "Who is the woman next to Pharaoh?"

He looked. "Some foreign princess. She hopes to wed the king." He said it as casually as if such things happened all the time. For all Hermione knew, they did.

She glanced around the banquet hall. Perhaps this would be a good time to ask some of the questions that were burning a hole in her head. "Why is nobody dancing?" she asked. There were the dancing girls, but none of the nobles or courtiers were joining in.

"No highborn Egyptian would ever consider dancing in public," Seth said. "Dancing is considered a private thing, or part of a religious ceremony." He hesitated. "I…I used to dance a great deal. But I haven't for a long time."

"Why not?" Hermione couldn't help but ask, but Seth didn't answer. Instead, he returned his attention to the room around her, and she sensed that the mystery that hung between them was once again rearing its ugly head. The priest made a motion to rise, but then glanced at his Pharaoh and sat down again. But when Hermione looked, the teenage king was apparently absorbed in conversation with one of his priests.

She cast around for another subject. Her brain had suddenly gone blank. Sitting there next to Seth, she was distracted by the nearness of him, his beautiful blue eyes, his soft brown hair, his lean muscular body, his sun-kissed skin. Then sanity reasserted itself.

_Stupid hormones!_

The thought came to mind that she could ask him about the progress he was making on the maps of Bakura's hideout, but she didn't want to wreck the festive mood by discussing business. This was supposed to be a break from that.

Instead, she asked about the library. "How many scrolls are in the collection?"

He answered with more enthusiasm than she had seen before. Maybe he was relieved she hadn't gone with a more personal question. They talked about books, and Hermione mentioned Hogwarts briefly, saying that it had a huge library.

He seemed intrigued by this mention of the future, but he didn't pry. Hermione was relieved; she hadn't meant to talk about Hogwarts. Wizards had gotten in trouble before interacting with people from the past. She, more than anyone, should know, given her adventures with the Time-Turner two years previously.

She noticed that they had been leaning towards each other slightly while talking, the better to be heard over the rumble of people around them. Though now that they were momentarily silent, neither one moved away. Hermione took another sip of wine. The alcohol calmed her, as well as gave her something to do with her hands.

Seth seemed just about to speak when a voice floated over the crowd.

"Look, it's a party."

All heads turned, silence fell. A man was standing in the doorway, his feet planted wide-apart and his hands on his hips. A white mane of hair framed his face, a wicked scar extending down the right side. He wore a red robe over his bare chest and a simple cloth around his waist. His chocolate-colored eyes, which should have had an endless capacity for warmth, were cold and mocking. Hermione shivered. She knew who this man must be. Seth's hand fell to the Millennium Rod. Pharaoh's eyes narrowed dangerously.

A cruel smirk slid over the man's face. He took another step into the hall, casually, disdainfully.

"I do _love_ a good party."


	6. Chapter 6

"What's wrong?" the man asked with mock hurt into the silence. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

"Seeing you is never a cause for celebration, Bakura," Pharaoh said coldly. "Why are you here?"

"Oh, the usual," Bakura said airily, swiping a glass of wine from a nearby table and draining it. He wiped his lips, turned and threw the goblet into a nearby wall. One of the nearby courtiers whimpered. "Death, destruction, mayhem." He chuckled. "Pain."

His eyes fell on Seth, still seated at Hermione's side. "Who's this? Don't tell me you've already forgotten your other strumpet." He snapped his fingers. "What was her name again?"

"Kisara!" Seth roared, springing to his feet, the Millennium Rod sliding free from his belt. The Item glowed, but the light was flickering, stricken. Seth's face was a mask of hate. And in the middle of that light formed a shadow.

The entire room gasped. "That's a dragon!" Ron burst out.

So it was. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had had their share of experience with dragons, but even by dragon standards, this one's appearance was _staggering. _Its tremendous white wings beat the air powerfully as it launched itself into the air, glaring down fiercely at the puny Thief King before it. Yet to Hermione's eyes, the dragon looked sickly; the white of its body was dulled. The creature's strange blue eyes were glazed. But it was still plenty terrifying, and when it roared, the throne room seemed to tremble, too small to contain something so powerful. Bakura actually took a step back.

Seth did not seem to notice the condition of the creature he had summoned. His eyes narrowed, and he thrust his hand forward towards Bakura. "You may have taken her from me, Thief, but she is not yet gone!" His voice trembled with anger. "Attack!"

The dragon opened its massive jaws. A ball of energy formed between them, crackling and sparking. With a final massive roar, the burst launched from the dragon's mouth, headed straight for Bakura.

The attack wrenched the others out of their paralysis. Pharaoh leapt to his feet, a golden disk on his forearm unfolding. He cried something, a name perhaps, but Harry and the others had no time to pay more attention to him. The other priests were all summoning their own monsters; the courtiers were all screaming and running for cover. The trio pulled out their wands.

Bakura had not been idle. As the dragon's attack had rushed towards him, he had lifted his hand, a golden disk similar to those the priests wore unfolding in a smooth motion. A monster formed in the air before him. It was hideous, with a snake for a lower body, complete with a head filled with venomous fangs, and with the upper body of a man. The creature's skin was brown, its massive humanoid head topped with horns, and its fingers ended in cruel talons.

"Diabound!" Bakura shouted. "Block and counterattack!"

An energy ball formed between the monstrosity's hands. When it was nearly the size of a small table, the creature hurled it away, just in time to intercept the white dragon's attack. The two blasts stalled in midair, equally matched. After a moment of warring for dominance, both beams disappeared. Quick as thought, Bakura's monster launched a second attack at the dragon. It tried to dodge, or to block, but moved too slowly.

Seth cried out in agony as his dragon was engulfed in the eerie purple light. The dragon mirrored his cry, wings suddenly failing to support its weight. It crashed to the ground, thrashing. But when the light faded, the dragon struggled to its feet, wings cradled protectively around Seth. Blue energy once again started forming between its jaws.

"Your White Dragon seems a little off its game today," Bakura sneered. Then he caught sight of the golden disk still folded inactively on Seth's wrist and his eyes widened. "And it's your soul monster too! Tsk, tsk. That was stupid." He grinned, a cruel, maniacal smile. "For when it dies, you will be destroyed!"

_Hurting the monster hurts the spellcaster? _Harry thought, and that gave him an idea. The priests' monsters were launching their own attacks at the creature in front of Bakura – _Diabound_, Harry remembered – but the Boy Who Lived took a different tack. He sprinted to one side, lifted his wand, and aimed directly at Bakura.

"Stupify!"

Bakura turned, mouth falling open briefly in surprise. Apparently, no one ever attacked him directly. They wasted their attacks on his powerful monster. But the Thief King had quick reflexes. He flung himself to the floor, and Harry's spell flew overhead. He was on his feet in moments, his eyes narrowing with fury. Ron and Hermione raced to Harry's side, shooting their own spells at varying heights to make them harder to dodge.

Bakura was forced to meet this new threat, leaving Diabound to deflect the magical blows of the Millennium Item wielders. A whirling circle of Shadows formed in front of the Thief King, blocking the trio's spells like a shield.

But as his mind shifted away from Diabound, his connection with the monster grew weaker. And weakness is not good when battling seven powerful Shadowmancers. Seth's white dragon attacked, trumpeting a battle cry. The other priests loosed their summoning as well, and an ENORMOUS red dragon with two mouths, one of top of the other, spat out a fiery ball of energy that lit up the entire throne room like the sun.

With a final roar of agony, Diabound shattered. Bakura screamed with the shared pain.

With barely a pause, the summoned monsters aimed at Bakura himself. Harry, Ron, and Hermione cast their own spells, though of a distinctly less lethal bent than the ones the priests and Pharaoh were using. Their combined power was enough to easily destroy the Thief King. Not just destroy him…it was enough to reduce him to little more than bits of bone.

At least it would have been, had any of their magic connected.

So quickly it was practically inhuman, Bakura swiveled his Shadow shield around. The priests ignored it; it wasn't strong enough to hold up to their attack anyway. Slifer in particular would tear through it like paper. But then Bakura's hand glowed, and the Shadows swirling within the magical shield deepened. Without a pause, Bakura leapt. He sailed into his newfound portal just as the magical attacks struck. There was a thundering crash and the floor splintered where the magic collided, but the Thief King was gone.

For a moment, all that could be heard was the panting of the hall's inhabitants. The white dragon let out an exhausted groan and let its magnificent head droop to Seth's shoulder. That touch seemed to restore him to sanity. He shuddered and the rage in his eyes drained away. He now looked exhausted too, and he stretched up his hand to stroke the dragon's head. There was something remarkably tender about the scene. Irrationally, Hermione felt a surge of jealousy.

She took a few steps in the blue-eyed priest's direction. The words 'Are you alright?' were on the tip of her tongue, and she was actually reaching out to touch his shoulder when the dragon's head snapped up, and Hermione felt her eyes transfixed by the monster's fierce blue gaze.

Before she could move, the dragon's tail swept around, smashing Hermione to the floor. Her wand flew out of her hand. One of its wings tightened around Seth, enveloping him in a protective cocoon that temporarily hid him from view. The dragon opened its jaws wide. To Hermione's horror, a blue ball of energy started forming between them. Ron and Harry were shouting; their twin shafts of red light rebounded off the dragon's armored scales. Hermione understood in that moment that the rest of her life would be measured out in seconds.

"Kisara, no!" Seth forced his way out from under the dragon's wing and leapt between the monster and the girl on the ground. He spread his hands out from his sides, blocking the dragon's view as much as possible, meeting the dragon's fierce gaze with his own. "Don't hurt her."

The dragon roared. The sound reverberated so loudly, even in the massive throne room, that Hermione covered her ears with her hands. The others were doing the same, judging by their curses. Seth didn't flinch. He kept staring into the dragon's eyes.

"You know there's only you," he said quietly.

The dragon roared once more, but with much less energy. This time, it sounded more disgruntled than angry. Seth took a step forward, lifting his hand to the creature's head. They stood in silence for a minute, the dragon still and unmoving beneath Seth's touch. There was a sound like a sigh, and the dragon faded from view.

Seth looked down at Hermione, who still hadn't moved. There was something unbearably sad in the dark blue gaze. Then, without a word, he turned and all but ran from the throne room.

No one moved or said a word.

In the silence, Hermione had to try twice before she could get her tongue to work. "Wh…what…who was that?" she asked, looking at the Pharaoh. His crimson eyes were not triumphant at having destroyed Bakura's monster; instead, they were haunted by ghosts.

It was Mahaad who finally answered. "That was Kisara," he said wearily.

Seth's wife."


	7. Chapter 7

**Warning: Graphic violence/blood**

* * *

"His what?" Harry, Ron, and Hermione gasped in unison.

For a moment, Hermione stayed sitting on the ground. Her head was spinning. Seth's wife? It didn't seem possible. And yet…

Ron looked at the priest incredulously. "Umm…this is a _dragon _we're talking about."

Vaguely, Hermione could hear the Pharaoh speaking to the courtiers, soothing them, telling them that they should return to their homes; for tonight, at least, the danger was over. It was hard not to get caught in the spell of his voice, especially when he was exerting extra effort to be convincing. The guests were muttering to themselves as they left the room, but their tone had a more hopeful quality to it than it had had. But Hermione was not focused on the Pharaoh or the banquet guests. Her attention was absorbed elsewhere.

Mahaad heaved a sigh. "It was not always that way," he said. His tone, usually a mixture of wryness and good humor, was sorrowful. "You had better sit; it's a long story."

"It is not a tale to be told for the amusement of strangers!" Aknadin interrupted angrily.

The Pharaoh looked at the aged priest. "Proceed, Mahaad," he said quietly. "Or if you will not, then I will." He met Aknadin's scowl with a cool stare. "I speak for my cousin in his absence."

_Wait a minute…Cousin?_ Harry thought, but Mahaad was already speaking.

"I should begin by saying that Kisara was not born of royal blood. She was a peasant, a foreigner no less, scrounging a living on the streets of the city."

* * *

_High Priest Seth's attention was attracted by the shouting. Inwardly, he sighed. _Not a moment's peace. _The day was hot_, _oppressively so. Perhaps this was what had riled up the crowd. Seth listened intently. Somehow, he didn't think so._

_Curious now, he ordered his litter bearers to carry him in the direction of the noise. Soon, Seth could make out an angry mob ahead. They were crowded right in the middle of the street, forming a circle. Rocks and rotten fruit were flying at something lying in the center of the ring._

_Seth gestured and the guards began to push through the crowd, shoving them aside with the butts of their spears. They were none too gentle, and Seth winced. The situation was already volatile. Still, it cleared his line of sight._

_When he saw what lay at the center of the crowd, his blood boiled. It was a girl, bloody, bruised, and nearly unconscious. Her hair was probably white when clean, but dust and grime had reduced it to a light shade of gray. Her skin was unnaturally pale, and much of it showed through the rips and tears in her skimpy tunic. As a large rock struck her side, she flinched and moaned. She covered her head with her arms, trying to shield herself from another blow. The crowd cheered, yelling out curses and taunts at their helpless victim._

"_Enough!" _

_Seth's command cut through the air like a whip. The entire mob fell silent. Seth was quivering with anger as he leapt from his chair and stalked towards the girl. The people parted to let him through._

_"I expect such cruelty from the worst of the barbarian hordes," he snarled. His hand clenched involuntarily on the Millennium Rod. "Not from my own people."_

_No one spoke. No one voiced the thought that with his blue eyes and relatively pale skin, Seth looked almost as foreign as the girl on the ground. They stared at him sullenly, but no one dared move._

_Seth glared at them. "Well? Why are you all still here?" he asked._

_They scattered. Seth was not known for his sweet and gentle nature. Many of them felt lucky to be escaping with hides intact._

_The girl stirred. She raised her head, looked around in confusion. Then she caught sight of Seth. When he reached for her, she shrank away. She seemed dazed. But all he did was help her to her feet. _

"_Why did they attack you?" he asked._

_She managed a shrug. "I'm different. People don't like different."_

"_I know what you mean." He looked her up and down. "What's your name?"_

_She glanced up. Seth was staggered by a pair of incredible blue eyes. Though her body seemed hopelessly frail, there was strength in that gaze. He felt something stir in his chest, something wild and unfamiliar. _What's wrong with me? _he wondered._

"_Kisara," she said finally._

"_I'm Seth." His mouth had spoken before his brain had quite given the order. _

_She smiled, a dazzling smile. "Good to meet you, Seth. Thank you for your help."_

_She turned to leave, and stumbled with a quiet cry of pain. Seth saw blood running down her leg. One of the rocks had left a deep gash just above her knee._

_"Guards, carry her back to the palace," he ordered immediately. The guards made to sling her between them, but he shook his head. "She will ride in my litter."_

_The guards exchanged looks, but did as ordered. On the long walk back to the palace, Seth had time to wonder exactly what he was feeling for this strange foreign girl._

_And more importantly, what was he going to do about it?_

* * *

"They fell in love." Mahaad smiled wryly. "It caused quite an uproar when he informed us of his decision to marry her. Had he relatives, they would have disowned him. Some in the palace actually called for him to be stripped of his rank. But fortunately..."

"I allowed the match," the Pharaoh interrupted. "Much to the disapproval of my court."

"Which in your eyes was a bonus," Mahaad said with a chuckle. The pharaoh shrugged, not denying it.

"As I have said," Mahaad continued, "he married her. Seeing someone marry for love is rare in this world, but it cannot be doubted they were deeply in love. They were married for nearly a year."

"And then the Thief King came," the Pharaoh said grimly. "At first, we did not know what we faced. Seth…Seth boasted that Bakura could take nothing in the palace, that he would soon be caught and punished. The monster made us pay for our ignorance."

The trio stared at him, horrified. "He…he killed her?" Hermione asked tentatively after a moment.

Aknadin let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Not right away. Better that he had."

Mahaad let out another sigh. The grief in his face was unmistakable. "We…the priests… were often closeted in the Pharaoh's chambers until late at night. In Seth's absence, Kisara would share their quarters with my…my apprentice Mana. They…they would keep each other company, spend the night talking..." The tall priest faltered, unable to continue. Harry, Ron, and Hermione couldn't have spoken even if they wanted to.

Shaada took up the story. "Bakura broke into the palace on one such night. He had heard of Seth's words and was determined to prove him wrong."

The trio had a horrible feeling they knew where this story was going.

"He went to Seth's quarters. Seth was not there. Instead, Bakura found something even better."

"Kisara," Hermione whispered in horror.

Karim nodded. His face was very pale. "He…he killed her, but not before…She fought. She and Mana both. The Thief King brought men with him. We found them lying dead. But Bakura…"

* * *

"_Hopefully these extra measures will soon rid us of this pest," Seth said crisply. "A few extra patrols, a few more guards in the hallways, and he will run back to his little desert cave."_

"_I hope so," Pharaoh said with a smile. "Or perhaps the guards will be so fortunate as to bring me his head." He stretched. "I fear this meeting has gone on far too long already. I'm sure you are all eager to return to your beds." He cast a knowing look in Seth's direction. "Though maybe some of you won't be sleeping much tonight."_

_Seth flushed, but a smile was still tugging at his lips. "I hope not."_

_It was then that they heard the screaming. _

* * *

"We heard screaming," Mahaad said hoarsely. "We heard screaming and came running, but we were hours too late."

Harry found his throat too dry to swallow. "Hours?"

"He tortured her," Mahaad said. "How much must Kisara have been forced to suffer in silence before Bakura finally let us hear her screams?" The last few words were nearly swallowed by a sob. "At least my Mana suffered a quick death." He paused, his kindly face contorted with the pain of the memories he was reliving. "Seth was the first one to find the body."

* * *

_Seth was moving before he was even conscious of moving. He was running, ignoring the shouts of the others, ignoring their footsteps struggling to keep pace. He was long of leg and fleet of foot and soon outdistanced them all._

_It didn't matter. He _recognized_ the voice screaming in such agony, knew instinctively with every bone in his body where it was coming from._

_His own quarters._

Kisara!

_The door was closed, sealed with spells. He flung his magic against it, enraged that it would dare hold against him, dare impede his progress. Kisara's screams had ceased, and he was terrified by the implications of that silence._

_The door splintered. He lunged through it, the Millennium Rod glowing wildly, ignoring the fragments of wood that tore his clothes and skin. There were bodies everywhere, dressed in flowing robes, hooded and masked. The crumpled body of Mahaad's apprentice Mana was hunched against the far wall. Her dead eyes were wide with shock. But Seth had eyes for only one thing._

Kisara.

_His beloved wife lay sprawled on the floor. Her beautiful white hair was stiff with blood. Her clothes were torn; blood oozed from what seemed like every pore. Her fingers were broken, one leg lay at an awkward angle. Seth had seen a hundred battles, men screaming and dying, but never such an example of brutal savagery._

_Crouched over her body was a man. His clothes and hair were soaked with blood as well, but on him they seemed like a second garment. When Seth entered, he looked up and grinned. A knife was clenched in his fist. Mad eyes glimmered out of his thin face. His white shock of wild hair hung in matted strands. Matted with Kisara's blood._

_Kisara was wounded. She was dying._

_But she was not yet dead. As Seth stood frozen in horror, she turned her head in his direction. Her face was a bloody horror, but those same bright blue eyes stared out from the ruin; even now, they had the power to capture his heart. She smiled and whispered his name, and blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. He heard himself whispering her name, over and over and over. _No, no, no! _His magic was at his fingertips, but he could not use it. If he attacked Bakura, she would die. _

_A part of his mind told him that she was dead already._

_Bakura rose. He met Seth's eyes. He smirked. Then, as casually as if he were stooping to clear a rock from his sandal, he bent down and slit Kisara's throat. Her whimper of pain was cut off abruptly as she choked on her own blood._

_Seth's magic exploded from him with such fury that it would have shocked even himself, had he cared. His mind had gone strangely blank. The Shadows did not even form a monster; instead they flew at Bakura as an arrow of pure, undiluted grief._

_The Thief King dove out of the way. He rose to his feet immediately, still grinning. He tossed the bloody knife at Seth's feet, flipped him a salute, and sprinted for the balcony. Seth pursued, magic arcing from him in earth-shattering bolts of energy. But Bakura was already flinging himself from the balcony. He plummeted from view…and was swept into the air in the strong arms of a hideous monster. They were drawing out of range. Within seconds, they had disappeared from view._

_The Millennium Rod clattered to the floor. Seth did not heed where it had fallen; he was already turning, already running, already sinking to his knees at his beloved's side._

"_Kisara!"_

_Amazingly, she still clung to life. The vibrant spirit within would not give in without a fight. Trembling with effort, she raised a hand to his cheek. He hugged her to his chest. She was so light, like a spirit of air. Something that would slip through his fingers._

_"Don't die, Kisara. Please don't die." _

_She gave him a last sweet, sad smile. Then her bright blue eyes went dull._

_Seth could not breathe. Heedless of the blood, he pressed his lips to hers. Trying to recapture a spark of life, willing his own life force to travel into her. _Dear gods, _he thought, _she can't be dead. Not Kisara.

"_I love you," he murmured through his tears. "I have never loved anything so much as you. Don't leave me alone."_

_When the other priests found him, he was hunched on the floor, clutching the body of his dead wife, his shoulders wracked with sobs._

* * *

Hermione was crying silently, the tears streaming down her cheeks. Ron awkwardly patted her on the shoulder. Harry stood there stoically, though inwardly he felt sick. The horrors the priests had just described were almost beyond imagining. Seth's coldness, his anger, his violent reaction to Akakios' taunting, now made sense.

"Bakura had written a message on the wall for us to find," the Pharaoh said quietly. His handsome face was drawn; his crimson eyes were haunted. "In Kisara's blood."

"What…what did it say?" Ron asked, a quaver in his voice.

"I take what I please."

There was a moment of silence.

"Oh." What else was there to say?

"What about the dragon?" Harry asked finally. "How…?"

The priests shrugged. "We do not know," Isis said quietly. "Seth was… heartbroken when Kisara died. He locked himself in his rooms and refused to let anyone enter. He did not eat or drink for three days."

"You could hear his howls of grief echoing through the palace at night," Karim said with a shudder. "The servants were terrified. Some said that he stayed crouching on the ground, clutching Kisara's body, for he would let no one touch her. Then, one day, he just appeared in the council chambers, clean and dressed in his robes of office."

* * *

_All eyes turned to the figure in the door. Seth's face was gaunt with fasting, but his eyes were bright and alert, and his stride was as smooth as it had always been. Without a word, he sat down at his accustomed place._

"Seth?" Karim's voice was almost tentative, as though he feared the other priest would simply vanish like some kind of illusion.

_Seth nodded, still saying nothing. His eyes met the Pharaoh's._

"_Kisara?" the Pharaoh asked gently._

_Seth laid a hand over his heart. "She will always be here, Pharaoh." He chuckled harshly. "We are soulmates."_

* * *

"Something broke in Seth the day Kisara died," the Pharaoh said. "The dragon comforts him a little, I think, but he suffers from a wound deeper than any sword cut. I do not know if it will ever heal."


	8. Chapter 8

_It had been three days since Kisara died._

_He didn't think of it in those terms, of course. He didn't think of time at all. Time was meaningless, and his life from this point on would be just a string of meaningless moments until he finally died. The grief he felt had torn away his insides. He still crouched on the floor, holding Kisara's body in his arms. If he let go, she would really be gone._

"_No," he muttered, his voice low, hoarse. "I _won't _let you go."_

_Carefully, oh so carefully, he laid her body on the floor, wincing as he once again beheld her mangled face. He rose. His robes were covered with dried blood, and they crackled when he walked. Moving stiffly at first, he made his way to his desk. There were jars there, full of herbs and other spell ingredients, designed to aid with other brands of magic than that provided by the Millennium Rod. Using a brush and a jar of paint, he carefully drew a circle around the body on the floor. He had a good eye; despite his lack of reference, the circle was all but perfect._

_He picked up the Millennium Rod. It glowed as if in comfort, but he ignored it. Comfort didn't come from a piece of metal; at this point, he wasn't sure it would come from anywhere.  
_

"_Hold on, Kisara," he whispered as he called on the power._

_Above the woman's mangled body, a light was forming. He was accessing a well of power that he had known existed, but had never tried to use, for it would have meant Kisara's death. Now, it didn't matter. He concentrated on drawing forth the soul. _

_Kisara's soul. _

_The soul of the White Dragon._

_Fled the body, but not gone. Not out of reach._

_The roar nearly drowned out the pounding of blood in his ears. Beautiful and deadly, the White Dragon rose up from Kisara's body, white wings outstretched and blue eyes sparking with power. The massive tail flicked out, wrapping around his body, and in that touch he could feel a lover's caress._

"_My love," he whispered. _

_The dragon roared acknowledgement. Seth's fingers moved frantically through the ingredients scattered all around him. Her soul could not stay here long, unbound as it was to any human body. Soon, she would be swept through the veil into the afterlife. And if he tried to bind her here as a dragon, she would be only another monster carving etched in stone._

_No, the only way for Kisara's soul to remain here was to implant it in another body._

_His._

_He forced his eyes away from the dragon and focused on the next part of the spell. The pattern emerging under his brush was growing ever more complex. The dragon nudged his shoulder; her massive body quivered with urgency._

"_Wait," he told her. "Almost done."_

_The dragon's muzzle knocked into him again, but he barely noticed. He rose to his feet, the Millennium Rod blazing as the last of his spell fell into place. There was a rumbling beneath his feet._

_A huge monster with purple skin and armor and carrying a massive double-edged sword appeared in within the circle._

_"Duos," Seth rasped, his voice hoarse, though he could not remember why. The monstrous being nodded once._

_"I need you no longer." He reversed the Rod, unsheathing the hidden blade in one smooth motion. Duos raised his sword, but hesitated, and the Rod cleaved through it like butter. With a sickly noise, the blade sank into the monster's chest._

_There was no blood. Duos made no cry. He simply gazed at Seth with a mixture of sadness and hurt. Then his body dissolved into light. Seth reached out with his bare hand and captured some of the light; it behaved more like a solid than anything else. Fist still brimming with Duos' essence, he laid his hand against the dragon's forehead._

_The dragon reared onto her hind legs and let out a great trumpeting roar. Then, just as Duos had, she dissolved. The blue light smashed into Seth's ribs with the force of a hurricane. He heard them creak, but ceased to care as the new soul monster ousted the remains of the old. The pain was _staggering_, but he bore it in silence. Compared to the pain his heart had already endured in the last few days, this was less than nothing._

_Hatred surged up so strong he felt bile in his throat as he pictured the Thief King's face. What he wanted more than anything else was to make Bakura feel the pain Seth was feeling, to tear his insides out and rub his face in them. Look what you've done! The light of Kisara's soul flickered dismally. _

_Magic of this magnitude had never been performed, at least not in recorded memory. None had the determination. None had the courage. None had the _power_. He was _altering_the very nature of his soul, changing its shape, melding Kisara's with his own, replacing his mighty Duos with her White Dragon. He could feel his soul changing, could feel the strain as the body strained to cope with a new force animating it. He was still Seth, but now he was…different. His body was a repository for a new soul._

Kisara's.

_Then the spell was complete._

"_Kisara," he murmured, and was stunned to realize he'd bitten through his lip._

_He touched his hand to his chest. The raw emptiness seemed to ease. His stiff muscles relaxed. She was here; he could feel it. _

_Still in a daze, he opened the door of his room and hailed a passing servant. The girl approached him tentatively, her brown eyes wide. Seth had no time to waste on pleasantries._

_"How long have I been in my room?" he demanded._

_"Three…three days, my lord," she stammered._

Three days? _His stomach suddenly rumbled. The girl winced._

_Seth eyed her. She was clearly terrified. He forced a smile. "I'm not going to hurt you, girl," he told her. She did not seem comforted. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the metal pitcher she carried. He looked like a ghost. Thin, pale, wasted from three days of starvation. His clothes and face were caked with dried blood, filthy tear tracks down his cheeks. No wonder the girl was frightened._

_He touched his chest again and through his magic could feel Kisara's soul twined with his own. Anger welled up in him again. To have her in such a paltry way, only feeling her dim presence in a corner of his soul, when just three days before, she had been standing at his side, close enough to touch with fingers, drink in with his eyes. His fingers tightened into fists. Bakura would pay!_

But it's better than nothing_, he thought, and forced himself to relax. The smile he gave the servant girl was much more natural. She seemed to sense this, and a little of the tension went out of her muscles._

_"My lord?" she said tentatively. "Would you like me to fetch you some food?"_

"_Yes," Seth said. "And water for a bath. Cold."_

_She nodded and scurried away._

_Clean and fed, he entered the room where the other priests sat in council with the Pharaoh. Silence fell; all eyes turned to him. He forced himself to ignore their scrutiny and walk smoothly and confidently to his place at table._

_"Seth?" Karim asked tentatively._

_He hated how they looked at him: like something fragile, broken. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. His magic was not a perfect solution. He had reclaimed a tiny piece of what Kisara was: the form her soul had taken in life. That was all. _

_"Kisara?" the Pharaoh asked gently._

_Seth looked at him. He had never been more grateful for the other man. There was true compassion in his king's eyes, unmarred by useless pity. He did not view Seth's grief as weak; he understood as well as anyone could how much Seth had loved Kisara._

_Seth laid a hand over his heart. "She will always be here, Pharaoh." He chuckled harshly. "We are soulmates." _

_Atem reached out for the familiar twinge of Seth's magic and felt an alien component to it, a sensation that had not been there before. In a rush of knowledge, he understood what Seth had done. _

'We are soulmates.'

_Despite himself, the Pharaoh shivered. _

* * *

Pharaoh's words faded away, and they all stood for a moment in silence. Then, as though awaking from a dream, the Pharaoh shook his head and spoke once more.

"But now we must focus on Bakura."

The priests seized gratefully on this new topic. "How did Bakura even get into the palace?" Aknadin demanded, staring at Mahaad. "You were supposed to make sure that this did not happen!"

Mahaad lowered his eyes. "I…I do not know." He turned to the Pharaoh, a stricken look on his face. "My Pharaoh, you must find a new head of security. I have utterly failed in my duty to you."

"Seth has told me often enough that Bakura is too wily to be captured by extra guards," the pharaoh answered. "I do not blame you, Mahaad. Tonight's…event was as mild as could be hoped. No one is dead, nor even seriously injured. The Thief King's entrance into the palace was surprisingly bloodless."

"This might sound heartless," Aknadin said, "But that worries me."

The other priests stared at him. "Bakura _doesn't _kill anyone and that worries you?" Shaada asked incredulously.

The older priest nodded. "Yes. It means he has found a new, secret way into the palace. As tragic as the deaths of some of the guards were, it at least meant that he was adopting a fairly straightforward approach. Now…"

"Now he's gotten devious," the Pharaoh sighed. "Wonderful."

"Hermione and I can do some wards on the doors and windows," Harry offered. Ron didn't seem to be annoyed at being left out; he _hated _doing wards, claiming they always gave him a headache.

"We shall do the same," the Pharaoh said. "There are already wards in place, but we must make them stronger."

"Well, at least his monster is destroyed," Ron said hopefully. "That's a good thing, right?"

But Mahaad was shaking his head. "For a long time, we thought that Diabound might be the Thief King's soul monster, and if it were destroyed, he would die as well. But it seems he has yet _another _monster we must deal with. He is far from beaten."

There was an uncomfortable silence, broken by the Pharaoh. "For tonight, we will ward the windows and doors," he said. His deep air of command calmed them all, though they all knew he was not as relaxed as he appeared. "For now, you are dismissed. You will need your rest."

The look in his crimson eyes brooked no argument. Wordlessly, the priests and priestess turned to go, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione made to follow them.

"Stay for a moment, Hermione," the pharaoh said, his voice much softer now. "I would speak with you."

She waited nervously as the others filed out, Harry and Ron shooting her worried glances. When they had all gone, Pharaoh let out a deep sigh, and his regal bearing crumpled. He seemed little more than human now.

"I am worried about Seth," he said quietly. She had to strain to hear him. "I think he will need whatever comfort you can offer."

"But I can't…" Hermione began. Her cheeks had turned fiery red with embarrassment. "I mean, I don't…"

He cut her off, gently but firmly. "I am not blind. And I am no fool. There is a connection between you, whether you are willing to acknowledge it or not." He sighed again. "I cannot order you to help Seth, but…I would…ask you as his cousin for whatever you can give." She hesitated.

"He will be in the library now," the Pharaoh added softly.

She took a deep breath. It was on her lips to deny that they had any kind of connection, to say that she and Seth had been thrown together by circumstances alone, and that she felt nothing for him except maybe a vague friendliness. But looking at the Pharaoh's exhausted face, the words wouldn't come.

"I'll try," she said, and was rewarded by the Pharaoh's radiant smile.


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione lingered nervously outside the door that led to the library. She lifted her hand, stopped, and lowered it again. This process was repeated several times before she finally had the courage to push the door open.

At first, she thought the library was deserted. Then she spotted Seth, seated at a table in the far corner of the room. As before, it was covered with scrolls. He held one in his hands, skimming the hieroglyphs upon it with almost feverish haste. He did not glance up when she entered.

Timidly, Hermione approached the table and stood before it. She opened her mouth, but suddenly realized she had no idea what to say.

He saved her the trouble. "He told you." His tone was flat, unemotional. He still did not look up.

She just nodded.

He sighed. "I suppose I had no reason to hope that he would not."

"It explains a lot," Hermione said hesitantly. "I…"

"It doesn't matter," he interrupted. He rolled up one scroll and reached for another, still avoiding her eyes.

She decided to change the subject. "Have you found a pattern to Bakura's hiding places yet?"

He ignored her, and she lost her temper. "Well, if you're going to be so rude, I'll leave you to figure it out by yourself!" She stomped towards the door.

"Wait." She turned back to see his shoulders slump in defeat. "I've relieved many painful memories and am likely to relieve many more before the night is over. I am…sorry."

Perhaps it was not the most gracious apology she had ever heard – and she'd spent the last five years hanging out with _Ron –_but Hermione decided to accept it anyway. She came back to the table and sat down beside him. He tensed.

"Maybe you shouldn't get so close. Kisara could have killed you tonight."

"It wasn't your fault."

"My intentions do not change the facts."

"She must have been very special," Hermione said quietly.

"I loved her," Seth said simply, finally looking directly into her face. "I love her. I will always love her."

"I…I don't think that she would have wanted you to be so angry."

His eyes narrowed. The Millennium Rod began to glow. "_Angry? _Bakura _murdered_ her. For that I plan to rip out his heart and feed it to him. Rot his soul until it hangs in tatters."

"Like yours has been?" she challenged.

He started, and for the first time it seemed that she had caught him off balance. "What?"

"Your soul was bound up in Kisara's, according to the Pharaoh." Hermione said. "It's bound up in that dragon."

He nodded his head curtly in assent. "What of it?"

"Didn't you see her tonight?" she demanded. "If that's your soul, then it's sick and dying."

He looked stricken. "What do you mean?"

Part of her felt regret for the pain she was clearly causing him, but Hermione had gone too far to turn back now. "You're so angry at Bakura that you can't see the damage you're doing to your own soul," she said. "The damage you're doing to _Kisara's _soul."

He stood. If he meant to intimidate her by his superior height, he succeeded. But she refused to back down. "I _saved _her."

She stood up too. "If that's what you mean by saving, maybe you should have just let her go."

The Millennium Rod's glow died. Without its light, the library seemed dull and gloomy. The torches in their sconces flickered.

Into the silence, Hermione softened her tone. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean…"

"No," he said hoarsely. "You said _exactly _what you meant. Thank you at least for your honesty."

More than anything else right then, Hermione wanted to be gone. Seth did not move as she headed for the door, her dramatic exit somewhat ruined by the fact she bumped into several tables in the dim light. At the door, she turned back. She could barely see his face.

"I'm still sorry," she said in a small voice.

Seth did not respond, and without another word, Hermione left.

* * *

Harry raised his blunted practice sword again and attempted to parry as his opponent thrust. He missed, and was rewarded with a painful knock on the ribs.

"Ow!"

"You're holding the sword too far from your body," Karim called from across the courtyard. "No, not that close…there, better."

Harry readjusted his grip and lifted the blade again. He could feel the sweat dripping into his eyes. It couldn't have been more than a few hours after dawn, but it was still hot. Beside him, Ron was sweating like a pig, his face nearly as red as his hair. None of the observers seemed perturbed.

He and Ron were practicing with a few of the Pharaoh's soldiers. With gestures and translation by Karim, who was watching the entire spectacle – the translation spell was far too precious to be wasted on _soldiers _– they showed the boys how to grip their weapons and how to thrust, block, and parry. And gave them the bruises to show for it.

_I _did _say I wanted to learn_, Harry reminded himself ruefully. He received another sharp knock to the ribs. _I must have gone temporarily insane._

There were footsteps from the direction of the palace. Harry glanced up and was rewarded by a smack to the side of his head. He glared at his opponent, who did not look sympathetic.

"Hermione?" Ron said. Harry tried to focus; his vision kept blurring at odd moments. It _was_Hermione, albeit very pale and tired looking with dark circles under her eyes. She smiled a greeting, but it was a strained kind of smile.

It was obvious enough that even Ron noticed. "Are you alright?" Apparently his opponent was more merciful than Harry's; in the few minutes he'd been standing still, the man hadn't smacked him once_._

"Fine, fine," Hermione said with forced cheeriness. "How long have you been practicing?"

"About an hour," Harry said, rubbing his head. Though his ears weren't technically _ ringing _anymore, he still felt like he'd had his brains shoved into a blender.

"Welcome, Hermione," Karim said courteously. He glanced past her and his eyes widened with surprise. "Seth."

The trio turned. Seth was striding across the courtyard, his white robes billowing behind him. In one hand he grasped the Millennium Rod. He swept past Karim, ignoring the other priest as he scrambled hastily to his feet. His eyes were only for Hermione. Harry thought she looked a little paler than before.

"I thought about what you said," Seth said without preamble. "About the state of my soul."

She seemed to shrink. "I didn't mean…"

"You're right," he interrupted. She blinked at him, startled. "I…I summoned Kisara again last night."He paused, and at his sides, his fists clenched. "I…I'm sorry for my rudeness."

"Seth admitting he was wrong?" Karim said, grinning. "That's a first."

Without turning around, Seth said, "Karim, would you like to spar with me?"

Instantly, Karim paled. "No…no, I can't…I couldn't…"

"Really?" Seth asked, finally turning around, a smile twitching at his lips. In one smooth motion he flipped a practice sword from the ground into his hand and brought it into guard position. "You're not _afraid_, are you?"

"Your skill with a sword is far greater than mine" Karim protested.

"I know."

"I…I have duties I must attend to," Karim said hurriedly. With a hasty nod to Seth, he all but sprinted from the courtyard.

Seth laughed. "Well, now that Karim has…abandoned us, it seems it falls to me to teach you." He nodded to Ron's opponent, but at an unseen signal, Harry's opponent stepped back. Seth took his place.

"Begin."

In two seconds flat, Harry found himself flat on his butt. He staggered to his feet, glaring murderously at Seth.

"How am I supposed to learn from that?" he demanded.

Seth looked at him expressionlessly. "You're overextending yourself," he said. "When you thrust, do not put all your weight behind it. When you parry, do not swing your sword like a slave striking the dinner gong." He raised his sword again. "Begin."

Again, Harry ended up on his butt. It happened again, and again, and again, until finally Seth moved to Ron. But as the soldier moved in again, Harry found himself responding more readily to the other man's attacks. He found himself smiling, and when he glanced over at Seth, the priest was watching him, a look of satisfaction on his face.

Without looking, he dumped Ron on his butt for the fifth time in a row.

"Could…" Hermione spoke up hesitantly. "Could I try?"

Seth started to speak, but one of the soldiers interrupted. "Women do not learn the sword," he said haughtily. "Fighting is a man's duty."

"Really?" Seth asked, arching an eyebrow. "Then who was it who defended your home from raiders this last year while you were laid up with a broken leg, Ramuti?" The man shifted uncomfortably. Seth turned back to Hermione. "My…I have learned not to assume a woman's weakness so easily." He extended his blade to her, hilt- first. She took it hesitantly. Seth smiled.

"Your sword, Ramuti."

"But my lord…" Ramuti protested.

Seth looked at him. Ramuti paled and fumbled at his belt for his sword, nearly dropping it in his hurry, before finally offering it hilt-first. Seth took it, dismissing the man with a glance.

He raised the blade. Hermione copied him, feeling her stomach churn.

"You have not spent the morning practicing," Seth said. "So I will give you a few minutes to get your bearings." He ran a hand over the blade, whispering an arcane word. She watched as the gleaming edges dulled and the point shrank into that of a blunted practice sword.

Seth caught her watching him. "It will do Ramuti good to spend time sharpening it." He raised it again. "Ready?"

She swallowed. "Ready."

He swung. He was moving slowly, but she still barely managed to get the unfamiliar weapon up in time. The blunted practice blades clashed.

"You are tensing the wrong muscles," he said. "You will injure your arm. Block like this." She jabbed and he neatly knocked her blade aside. "I am a stronger opponent. You must make use of your speed and agility."

They practiced for nearly half-an-hour on the basic moves and footwork. He was utterly patient, calling out encouragement and advice. There was something in his eyes, however, even while blocking her blows, that was always distant.

"Are you alright?" she asked him in an undertone under the clash of blades. "This seems so sudden. I mean… you seem abruptly better today." She faltered. "Not that that's…"

His blade slipped neatly past her guard and tapped her on the ribs. "Do not mistake this for healing," he said quietly. "This is merely part of the mask I wear."

"Is that all it is?" she asked as they disengaged and clashed again. "A mask?"

He opened his mouth, but before he could answer, there came a cry from the direction of the palace."Seth!"

Seth turned. Karim was hurrying back across the courtyard, his face twisted with worry. Seth's hand went to the Millennium Rod.

"Seth," Karim gasped. "Pharaoh has entered the Shadow Realm!"

Seth relaxed. "He's a Shadowmancer, Karim. That's not…"

But Karim was shaking his head frantically. "You don't understand. He's entered the Shadow Realm…he's trying to contact _Him_."

The trio looked at each other in confusion, but Seth's face had gone pale. He seized the front of Karim's robes. "And you let him?!"

"I could not dissuade him," Karim said, raising his hands helplessly. "You must stop him, Seth. If Bakura…"

But Seth was already running. Before Harry, Ron, and Hermione could even react, he was sprinting up the steps of the palace. And before they could even take a step in that direction, the doors slammed shut behind him.


	10. Chapter 10

Seth ran through the palace, his breath coming in sharp gasps, his heart thundering in his ears. He was vividly reminded of the night Kisara died, and the way he'd run then, trying desperately to save her. Then he'd been too late.

He would not let the same thing happen to Pharaoh.

The doors to the principle casting chamber were closed. As Seth approached, the Millennium Rod began to glow, and he felt the bone-wrenching cold of the Shadow Realm. From the room beyond, he could hear chanting and an echo of cruel laughter.

With so much magic in the air, he could not access his power. Any action of his might disturb the spells inside, which would be fatal for the casters. He shoved on the doors, praying they would be unlocked. They were; the spells that normally held them closed had been drained away.

Terror, so strong it almost paralyzed him. He fought it down and flung the doors wide.

Pharaoh knelt in the middle of the room, blood streaming from both arms and splattering the golden floor beneath. His head lolled like a broken puppet whose strings have just been cut. His crimson eyes were closed, but his mouth was open in a silent scream. The Puzzle hardly glowed, its power almost drained.

Around Pharaoh stood his four remaining priests. All stood rigidly, eyes open and empty, their mouths gaping as they mouthed the words to an obscene chant. It was bitterly cold, yet none of them shivered. In the eerie light upon the altar, their shadows danced. The harsh words tore at Seth's ears, accustomed as he was to spellcasting; there was evil here that even _he_ had never tried to invoke.

He had to stop it.

Raising the Millennium Rod, Seth spoke the Seven Words of Breaking. Just speaking them felt like hot irons ripping open his throat; his own magic trembled and nearly failed from sheer proximity.

Nothing happened.

Seth dropped to his knees, panting with the effort. His limbs trembled, his breath came in shuddering gasps. He had spoken the Words correctly – he felt their drain upon his ka – but the spell was still in effect. How was that possible? Fear threatened to overwhelm him again, but he ignored it and staggered to his feet.

He stood there, staring at his king in the center of the floor. The blood was still streaming from the cuts, far more quickly than it should have been. How much more could Pharaoh afford to lose?

There was no other choice. He had to enter the Shadow Realm himself and try to end the spell from there.

He focused his ba, preparing his soul to submerge into the magic. It was frighteningly easy, almost as though the Shadow Realm was eager to drag him in. Only a thin thread of self-restraint was keeping him from falling in. He steeled himself, tightened his grip on the Millennium Rod, and let go.

The light of the room dimmed and the familiar violet fog of the Shadow Realm spread. The Shadows cackled, tearing at his clothes and hair, shrieking with rage as the Millennium Rod flared and drove them away. With each labored breath, Seth felt magic coursing down his throat and burrowing beneath his skin. But worse was the feeling that he was not alone. The darkness brimmed with life. Something far more powerful than the Shadows that he so easily controlled.

Pharaoh knelt not ten paces away. The glow of his ba was frighteningly weak. But here his eyes were open. "Seth…" he whispered. "Help me…"

Seth had taken only a single step towards his king when the Shadows coalesced. A man with white hair and dark eyes stood there, clad in a red cloak. A demon's smile twitched the corners of his mouth.

"Bakura," Seth snarled. "How have you accomplished this?"

The Thief King laughed. "Oh, I'm far more powerful than you realize, Blue Eyes. And your precious pharaoh was foolish enough to come waltzing right into my arms."

Hatred rose up in Seth and nearly choked him. For a moment, he could not breathe with the strength of it. Helpless to restrain himself, he stepped forward. And stopped.

"You're not Bakura," he said.

Bakura's smile widened. "Clever mortal." His brown eyes darkened further, until they were little more than pools of inky blackness. His smile was all teeth. "What gave me away?"

Seth smirked. "Even in the Shadow Realm, the Thief King stinks."

The creature's eyes widened, and then he _laughed._ The sound was without a doubt he most terrifying thing Seth had ever heard. "Few have dared to speak to me with such insolence. I am impressed." He lifted a hand. "Will you not join me, mortal? You are more worthy of my power than a petty thief." His voice grew quieter. "Will you not speak my name and set me free?"

Seth snorted. "How much of a fool do you think I am?"

"Do you not know it?" the creature asked, eyes widening in a parody of surprise.

"I know it," Seth said quietly. "What have you done to Pharaoh?"

"_Me_?" Zorc said innocently. "Not a thing. He simply lost his way."

"Pharaoh is not so weak as that!" Seth spat. "He knows the dangers of the Shadow Realm better than anyone."

"So he did." Zorc sneered. "But he was _trying_ to summon Me. He sought My aid." He laughed. "The fool."

Seth came to a sick realization. "You are the force behind the Thief King," he whispered. "_You_ are the reason that he did not die with Diabound."

The monster inclined his head. "Indeed."

Seth swallowed again. "But now you are a Shadow only," he said desperately. "You cannot enter our world."

"I will," Zorc said easily. "Bakura will soon obtain everything I need."

"Not if he dies first," Seth said.

Zorc smirked. "You can't stop him. You don't have the power."

Seth straightened and matched the monster's smile. "I will."

He sprang forward before Zorc could react. His arms wrapped tightly around his pharaoh's frail, bleeding body. And focusing his ba for a final effort, he screamed the Seven Words of Breaking.

* * *

The trio followed Karim through the hallways at a dead run. They had only been running for a few minutes when Karim doubled over with a grunt of pain. He raised his head, his dark skin white. "I can feel the power of the Shadows even here," he whispered in horror. "They have never been this strong!"

They were running again, Harry and Ron helping Karim. The man was trembling, and as they approached what was he claimed was the principle casting chamber, his shivering got worse. The doors were ajar, and from inside, there emanated a bitter cold. Karim shuddered, his steps becoming even slower.

Suddenly, the ground beneath them quaked. Someone screamed, a string of long, meaningless words that echoed and reechoed off the walls and floor. Then, as though sucked into a black hole, the cold and the magic disappeared. Drawing their wands, Harry, Ron, and Hermione rushed inside.

On the floor inside the room, Pharaoh lay before a golden altar. The floor beneath him was soaked with blood. Seth knelt beside him, cradling his king in his arms, face chalk white. They were both perfectly still. Four priests lay on the floor around the pair, unconscious.

As the trio entered, Seth stirred. His eyes opened and gazed around the room, confused. Then, as they rested on the motionless pharaoh, they abruptly snapped into focus.

"Pharaoh!" he cried, laying the man down carefully on the floor. He cursed as he saw the blood still streaming from Pharaoh's arms. Shifting his weight, he grasped the edge of his cloak, preparing to tear it into strips.

That snapped Hermione into action. "Wait," she said, lifting her wand and pointing it at Pharaoh. Seth looked up at her. "I can stop the bleeding. Vulnera Sanentur!"

The flow of blood slowed, but Hermione gasped. It felt like something was _blocking _the magic, like something was resisting the healing. Noticing her stricken face, Harry and Ron lifted their wands too.

"Vulnera Sanentur!" they said in unison. This time, the cuts began to close, the flesh beginning to knit together.

"Vulnera Sanentur!" The cuts closed up completely. Seth breathed a sigh of relief. The trio just stood there panting. For some reason, the spell had taken a lot out of them. But they were rewarded a few moments later when Pharaoh moaned and stirred. He opened his eyes.

"Seth?" he whispered. "What…" His eyes fell on his other priests. "Are…are they alright?"

Karim bent down beside the other priests. "They live, My Pharaoh."

Pharaoh laid his head weakly against Seth's shoulder. "Good…"

Without a word, Seth swept his king into his arms. The king protested feebly, but Seth ignored him, and soon Pharaoh simply let himself be carried. His eyes closed and he lapsed into a weary doze. At the door, Seth stopped and looked at Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

"Thank you," he said simply.

Harry smiled shakily. "Hey, no problem."

Seth smiled in return, then left, carrying the limp pharaoh in his arms.


	11. Chapter 11

First, it was bitterly cold. The air seemed to crystallize; the men's breath was suddenly visible. Clad in their dark robes, they suddenly began to shiver. The desert alone could not account for such cold.

Next came the smell of decay, of things long since left rotting. Even as accustomed to death as they were, the men covered their mouths with voluminous sleeves and dry-retched, shoulders shaking pathetically.

Then there was darkness. Not the simple darkness of the night, nor the ruined darkness of Kul Elna. Just darkness, the absence of all light, of all hope, of all life. It was the darkness of death, and the darkness of a fate far worse than death.

Bakura lifted his head and smiled.

"Out," he commanded, and the men unceremoniously fled. The Thief King took no notice of them, save to smirk briefly at their cowardice. Instead, he rose to his feet and stood there waiting.

He did not have to wait long.

The darkness brushed against his face. _Thief..._

"Zorc," Bakura greeted, acknowledging his master's arrival with a slight nod.

Zorc did not seem to appreciate this show of reverence. _You are weak._

Bakura bristled. "Says a Shadow."

Wicked claws ripped into his chest, sending him staggering back. Before he could catch his breath, the darkness tightened around his body, flinging him into the wall. He stubbornly bit back a cry of pain as he fell to his knees.

The darkness solidified. A man stood there, his tri-colored hair standing up in stiff spikes. The golden bands around his wrists and collar twinkled in a non-existent light, and his crimson eyes narrowed disdainfully as they surveyed the thief.

At the sight, Bakura forced himself to his feet. His ribs ached and his chest felt cold, but he glared hatefully at the figure before him.

The man smiled mockingly. "Oh, so _now_ you're angry? You've been letting me walk all over you up until now."

Bakura's eyes narrowed.

"One would almost think that you've forgotten the pain I've put you through," the pharaoh continued pleasantly. "The way your family screamed as they died. The way their souls are locked in eternal torment..." One hand strayed to the golden Puzzle hanging around his neck, "forced to do the will of their murderer..." He stepped forward, his cloak billowing impressively in a non-existent wind. "You_ are _weak, Thief. You are not worthy of my power."

The figure changed, tri-colored hair turning to brown, the crimson eyes becoming blue. "Fortunately for you..." he said, his body stretching and lengthening, the golden Puzzle becoming a golden Rod, "...the one who _is _has refused me."

"Seth?" Bakura laughed incredulously. The motion hurt. "He's a lovesick puppy still mooning over his dead slut of a wife."

Seth smirked. "He hates, and his hatred makes him powerful." He cocked his head, considering Bakura. "He will kill you, you know," he said, reaching out a hand as though to stroke the Thief King's cheek. "He will make you beg to die."

Bakura jerked his head away from the Shadow's touch. "He won't catch me."

The creature was unperturbed. "He will," he said, "given time. Unless you first destroy him _and _his precious pharaoh."

"What do you think I've been _trying _to do?!" Bakura demanded.

"_Trying _being the operative word," Zorc said coolly. He reached out with Seth's long, thin fingers and touched the gashes his claws had torn in the Thief King's flesh. They sealed without a sound.

"Fortunately for you, my dear thief," the Demon said silkily, "You're being given one last chance..."

* * *

"My lord, you must rest."

"I cannot," Seth said, staring at his king's motionless body. "Pharaoh has not yet awoken."

The healer hesitated. He had seen the High Priest before, of course, even interacted with him several times. Then, he had seemed impressive, regal, cold. He was a shadow at his pharaoh's side, coming forth to destroy Pharaoh's enemies. Kamuzu had tended him once after a battle, a stab wound that had cut through skin and muscle alike all the way down to the bone. Pharaoh had been wounded in that same battle, refusing to remain behind the lines while his men died. It was hardly more than a scratch, but Seth had refused to leave his side. It was only when Pharaoh's wound had been taken care of and Pharaoh had been resting comfortably that Seth finally allowed Kamuzu to come forward to tend to him.

"_I must stitch this, my lord," the healer had told him then. "Let me fetch you medicine for the pain..."_

"No."

"No? But my lord..."

"_I will not dull my mind with medicine." Seth smiled coldly. "Never fear. I will not move and spoil your stitching."_

The healer's protest had died in his throat. And indeed, Seth had not moved or cried out, only sat regally and tolerated the healer's attentions. Then, he had been something other than human, as inscrutable and distant as the gods themselves.

Now he was just a man, sick with worry and exhaustion. That commanding voice had been degraded to little more than a whisper, literally scorched by the magic he had summoned. Those farseeing eyes were now only for his king.

Now, he was only human.

Hesitantly, Kamuzu placed his hand on the young priest's shoulder. "He will be alright," he said. "Sleep now. When he wakes, I will let you know."

Seth stirred. "I cannot..."

A glint of fire crept into the healer's eye. "Sleep, or I will knock you over the head and put you to bed myself."

Seth's head snapped up, failing to entirely conceal his shock, but Kamuzu met his gaze determinedly. After a long moment, Seth laughed.

"Very well, Healer," he croaked, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. "I will rest for a little while..."

He was asleep.

Kamuzu tucked a blanket around the High Priest's sleeping form, and glanced over at Pharaoh.

"You are indeed blessed by the gods," he told the unconscious man. "if you are served by men like this."

* * *

"You think the pharaoh will be alright?" Ron asked.

"I think so," Harry answered. "We got the bleeding stopped in time, so he should be okay."

"But if Bakura attacks now, it's over," Hermione said seriously from where she paced on the other side of the room. "Pharaoh won't be able to fight him off, and you saw what the magic did to the priests."

"So what do we do about it?" Harry asked, looking up at her.

"We need to figure out a way to defend the palace," she said. "There have to be spells and other things that we can use."

"You mean, like booby traps?" Harry said, sitting up a bit straighter.

Hermione hesitated. "Yes... like booby traps. We also need to find out where Bakura's hiding. If he _doesn't _attack, then we need to figure out how to catch him."

"You saw what happened last time we fought him," Ron pointed out. "He just sort of _portalled _out of here."

"That's why we have to catch him off-guard," Hermione said. "We just need a plan."

Both boys swallowed. "I just hope the pharaoh gets better soon," Ron said to Harry in an undertone.

There was fire in Hermione's eyes. "Let's get to work."

* * *

The men's bodies fell to the sand. Bakura sneered at them as he yanked his sword free. Another pathetic patrol, armed with equally pathetic Shadowmancers. Bakura had barely had to lift a finger. Once the magicians had fallen, the soldiers had been easy prey.

His thieves gathered around him, the moonlight glinting in their eyes, their faces otherwise hidden under their robes. Only he rode with his head uncovered, free and unafraid. He swiveled his horse to look at them.

"We will reach the palace by the morning," he said. "And tomorrow night...we shall attack!"

They roared in approval. Bakura's gaze ticked from one to the other, knowing them all, reveling in their determination. "Tomorrow night, we will claim our vengeance."

Once more, they cheered, and raised their blades in salute, the sound like a crash of thunder. Bakura smirked and turned his horse's head once more.

"Tomorrow night, spirits of Kul Elna, you will drink your fill of royal blood!"

Quietly, so that none of the others heard him, he murmured, "And you and I will finally be able to rest in peace."

* * *

It had been a long and sleepless night. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were exhausted, but triumphant. Though they had not managed to figure out a pattern to the Thief King's hiding places, they _had _figured out a spell that shouldkeep him from disappearing from the battle. And they had also figured out a couple of ways to...discourage him, should he appear in the palace itself.

But now, they were just looking forward to a long, long, nap.

So of course, it was at that moment that there was a knock on the door. Harry opened it to find Karim.

"Pharaoh has woken up," the priest said without preamble. "He is asking for you."

* * *

"I cannot thank you three enough for saving my life," the pharaoh said seriously. He was sitting up in bed, propped up against several cushions.

Hermione blushed. "It was nothing…" she began.

"No," Pharaoh cut her off. "It was everything. And from the bottom of my heart, I thank you."

Ron turned a shade of pink and Harry shifted awkwardly. "You're welcome," they both muttered.

Pharaoh turned his eyes to his priests. They were all present, even the four that had been involved in the summoning, and all carrying their Millennium Items. Not as badly injured as their king, they had been revived by little more than food and rest. Seth stood apart, saying nothing and not looking into the pharaoh's face.

"I must thank you all as well," Pharaoh said. "Aknadin, Isis, Shaada, Mahaad, you all did more than…"

"What you did," Seth interrupted, "Is nearly got Pharaoh killed."

"Seth…" Pharaoh began.

"You failedin your first duty to our king," Seth said, ignoring him. His fists were clenched at his side. "You nearly cost him his life, and worse…his soul. I expected better from you."

"What could we have done?" Mahaad challenged. "It is our solemn duty to obey Pharaoh!"

Seth snorted. "Your _duty _is to protect Pharaoh at all costs. Even from himself. You should have refused his order. Failing that, you should have sent for _me _to deal with him." He chuckled harshly. "Gods know, I'm the only one who seems to know how."

They were all silent, guilt written clearly across their faces.

Seth turned to Pharaoh. "And as for _you_…"

"Seth…"

_Crack!_Seth hit him directly in the face. Pharaoh sprawled back across the pillows, his expression pathetically startled. The other priests let out a cry of outrage and Hermione gasped.

"Seth!" Aknadin barked. "What.." He made to step forward, but Pharaoh wordlessly motioned him back.

Seth was nearly trembling with anger, fists clenched at his side. "What on earth possessed you do something so utterly _stupid_?!"

"We need help," Pharaoh said, awkwardly pulling himself into a sitting position. "It was a chance…"

"It was idiocy!" Seth snapped. "The Demon has never been a friend to Man. You know this! And yet you try and face Him _without_ _me_!"

Pharaoh's expression softened. "I didn't want you to be hurt, Seth," he whispered. "You've been distracted…I know I've been a fool. I'm sorry."

Seth's shoulders sagged, and all the anger went out of him. "Idiot," he muttered, but it lacked force. "Promise you won't try that again."

Pharaoh smiled wanly. "I promise."


	12. Chapter 12

Night fell on the royal palace.

Pharaoh had retired to his room, insisting he was _fine_, he refused to be confined to his bed like a sickly old man, and what right did a common healer have to command his _king_? Kamuzu had wanted to protest, but those crimson eyes had stopped the words up in his throat.

Seth had been dismissed as well. He _had _protested, and vehemently.

"Sleep, Seth. I am not defenseless."

"I clearly need to knock some more sense into that thick skull of yours. Don't you realize what an opportunity your injuries provide for Bakura? Atem..."

"Do not presume to address me in such a familiar fashion, _Priest_. I have been very lenient with you, but you _will _remember your place."

Seth's mouth twisted. "Forgive me, Pharaoh. I will not plague you with my company." He bowed. "May I at least have permission to ward Your windows and doors tonight? Though You are clearly powerful enough to defend Yourself, it would be beneath You to be forced to deal with a petty _Thief King_."

Atem sighed. "I'm sorry, Seth. You know I am simply..."

"I know."

"Just do not expect me to give in so easily before the court."

"I have never been _that_ arrogant."

Pharaoh laughed. Just as quickly though, his face grew somber. "I could not bring danger to the other sick and wounded. If Bakura were to attack…"

"You are too noble, my king."

"So you've said. I do not need you to protect me, Seth. You need to rest as much as I."

"Pharaoh..."

"You are dismissed."

Seth clenched his fists, but this time kept them at his side. He'd already courted death by striking his king once. Pharaoh might not be so forgiving a second time. Besides, and more importantly, he knew it would do no good. Not when Atem was determined to be stubborn.

So instead he bowed and bid his king goodnight.

Of course, once he was outside the door, he sealed it with his strongest wards, dispatched Shadows to seal the windows and balconies, threatened to _personally _disembowel and strangle the guards with their own insides if they failed in their duty, and in case that all failed, ringed the entire area with a _second_ protective shield that left him gasping.

Ignoring the nagging fear that none of it would be enough. Ignoring the feeling that he was about to watch another loved one die.

Ill-at-ease, he retired to his room and tried to sleep.

* * *

All was quiet in the royal palace. And it remained that way as the bodies of the first palace guards collapsed to the steps, blood spilling from their ruined throats.

* * *

Ron grunted in his sleep and turned over. Hermione slept quietly, curled up in a little ball beneath the blankets the servants had brought her. Harry, however, could not sleep. His mind kept straying to the steps they'd taken to defend the palace. Were they strong enough? Would they be able to repel the Thief King…and what would happen if they didn't?

He stared at the ceiling, tried counting sheep, and finally gave up. Moving quietly, so as not to wake his friends, he got dressed, picked up his wand, and slipped out into the palace hallways. Maybe a little walk would clear his head.

* * *

The first ward stretched across the hallway leading to the priests' quarters. Bakura drew his men to a halt in front of it and stared at the barrier, an amused smile quirking the corner of his mouth. _Is this all?_ He reached out with the Shadows; it wouldn't take too long to infiltrate the shield and bring it down.

Suddenly, he heard a scream, abruptly cut off. He whirled, his concentration shattered. His men were staring wide-eyed at an empty space beside the door, and where there had been ten, now there were only nine.

"What happened?" Bakura hissed. "Where is Inarus?" Stealth might well be useless now, but he saw no reason to advertise their presence if Inarus' scream had not.

"He…he disappeared, my lord," Henenu said. The man's normally ruddy face was pale. "There was a golden statue, and when he touched it, he just…he just disappeared."

Bakura was surprised. The pharaoh had never used traps in the past, preferring to rely on straightforward methods of defense and attack. It made him so wonderfully predictable. _Could Seth have…_but no, it was not Seth's magic that Bakura could feel hanging in the air. It made him profoundly uneasy.

But his men were watching, and he could not afford to show weakness. "We continue."

He brought down the ward and his men followed him down the hall in silence.

* * *

Without really meaning to, Harry found himself in the hallways leading to the priests' quarters. He had visited them briefly with Mahaad, and of course he had been there when he, Ron, and Hermione had placed a Portkey outside one of the wards. This was not where most of the priests slept, Mahaad had told him, just the ones who wielded magic. The powerful Shadowmancers – the Millennium Priests – and their chosen few.

Something moved. Harry's wand came up, but then he hesitated. It was probably just a servant, or even one of the priests returning from the library. Moving as quietly as he could, he crept forward and peered around the corner.

It wasn't a servant.

* * *

Once they reached the priest's quarters, the small band split up. Three of the remaining nine crept off to deal with Karim, Shaada, and Isis, or at the very least, to seal them in. These were the weakest of the Millennium Priests, so Bakura was not overly concerned. Not one of them would pose much of a threat.

The other three, however, _were _a threat. The mindreading powers of the Millennium Eye were not to be taken lightly, and even without them, Aknadin was a formidable opponent. Mahaad, though as dully predictable as his king, had enough magic to make life exceedingly difficult, and as for Seth… '_Fortunately for you, the one who is has refused me.' _Perhaps the man was not as crippled with anger and grief as Bakura had thought.

Still, two men apiece should be enough to keep those three busy for awhile. One of the thieves might even get lucky.

As for Bakura, he would have his vengeance. More of his men were waiting outside the pharaoh's room, waiting for Bakura to bring down the wards. The pharaoh first, then, if he had the leisure, his Blue Eyes. He was looking forward to seeing if Seth's screams were as sweet as his whore's had been.

* * *

"Lumos!"

The two men crouching in front of the door shouted in surprise and threw up their hands to shield their eyes as Harry came around the corner, his wand shining brightly. As they did so, the hood of one fell back, and Harry saw the face of a young man with dark hair and eyes, his mouth twisted with hate.

"Stupefy!" One of the intruders collapsed to the ground even as he started to rise, the knife he'd been drawing out of his robes clattering to the ground. But while one was stunned, his partner was not. He lifted a hand and cried out in a strange language. A deadly _cold_ filled the hallway and lifted the hair on Harry's arms, the cold of death, of despair. Shadows launched themselves at Harry.

Harry reacted on instinct. "Expecto Patronum!"

A gleaming white stag erupted from his wand. Harry barely saw it, trying to hold on to the happy memory of being with Sirius, of learning he had a family after all… The Patronus charged. The Shadows fell back before it, their whispers of anticipation turning to shrieks of dismay. The white stag bulled into them, flinging them aside with its horns and driving them still farther back. Warmth was returning to the world, the aura of despair fading away. The man who'd summoned them cursed and leapt at Harry, drawing a dagger from his robes as he did so…and then the door exploded outwards, shards flying everywhere. The man had only time for a single shriek before Shadows engulfed him.

A moment later, Seth himself stepped through the doorway, the Millennium Rod in his hand and fire in his eyes. His eyes widened when he saw the stag.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked.

Seth tore his eyes away from the ghostly stag. "Yes." Without another word, he bent down beside the thief Harry had stunned. He lifted the Millennium Rod…and drove the point through the man's throat. The thief choked as blood spurted from the wound. Seth rose and wiped off the blade before lifting his eyes to Harry's horrified stare.

"He would not have told us anything, and time is of the essence," he said, ignoring the man noisily dying on the floor. "If Bakura has sent men to deal with me, then he has already gone after the Pharaoh. I must go to my king."

Before Harry could reply, Seth was running, and in a few moments, had disappeared from view.

* * *

The king's room was heavily warded.

The guards were no problem, of course; it took Bakura mere moments to kill them both and lay their bodies quietly on the floor. Then he paused, eying the protections. As much as he hated to admit it, they were more than he'd be able to break through alone.

A Shadow brushed against his mind.

_Zorc!_

_Yes, little thief. I have come._

Bakura grinned.

* * *

_A madman with a shining sword, his eyes empty holes in his thin face... A demon, black as night, rearing over him, laughing at him, taunting him. 'Can't you stop me, little king?' Seth's broken body crumpled at his feet, blood spilling from the red ruin of his throat…_ Pharaoh sat bolt upright in bed. _A dream. _He took a deep shuddering breath. _Only a dream. _

All certainly _seemed _peaceful. His room was dark, lit only by moonlight falling in from the balcony. There were no madmen with swords, no Shadow monsters looming over his bed. All was quiet.

Too quiet.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind then a shadow detached slowly from the far wall, and the king felt cold suffuse his gut. He leapt to his feet.

"Bakura!"

The Thief King smirked. "Frightened?"

"I do not fear you."

"Liar."

There was a noise at the balcony. A handful of figures clad in black slipped into the room, moonlight glinting on their naked blades. The pharaoh stepped back, hand going to the Puzzle on its golden chain. _What happened to the wards?_

But it was too late to worry about that now. The first of the thieves attacked, blade held high. Pharaoh grabbed his own blade from where it lay beside his bed and brought it up just in time to meet the swing. A Shadow monster leapt at him, but the king's own Shadows sprang to his defense. Pharaoh blocked another blow, then was forced to pivot quickly to prevent another thief from opening his throat.

Over the snarling of the monsters and the clash of metal, Pharaoh could hear the Thief King laughing.


	13. Chapter 13

The thieves were almost as surprised as they were. One moment, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were running down the halls, trying to remember which way led to the Pharaoh's rooms, and the next, they were facing a pair of desperate men armed with very sharp swords. The blade of one was coated liberally with blood, and Harry tried not to imagine whose blood it might be.

"Petrificus Totalus!" The first thief keeled over, a victim of Hermione's well-aimed curse. The second went down a moment later, his shields not calibrated to withstand a non-Shadow based attack. The trio left them lying where they were and sprinted on, hoping they were headed in the right direction. Halfway along the hall, they met Mahaad. There was no smile in the young priest's eyes now.

"Seth?"

"He was heading towards the pharaoh's rooms," Harry panted.

"What about the other priests?" Ron asked. "Are they alright?"

Mahaad's mouth tightened. "I do not know. I must go to Pharaoh, but I fear…"

_The blood…_

"How do we get back?" Harry demanded.

The indecision vanished from Mahaad's face. Shadows slithered from the Millennium Ring and sped down the hallway. Harry took off after them, with Ron and Hermione in pursuit. Hermione glanced back briefly as they turned a corner, but Mahaad was already out of sight.

She couldn't repress the horrible feeling that they were all too late.

* * *

It was starting to become reflex. Attack, parry, dodge, attack again. Jump forward, thrust. Jump back. Parry. Dodge. His breathing was growing harsh; what little strength he had to spend was rapidly drying up. His blade slipped past his attacker's guard and sank into the man's chest. He'd killed three now, his Shadows four, but more kept coming, and he was tiring.

His current attacker lunged. Atem stepped back, as he had before, but this time his foot slipped on the bloody floor. Off-balance, he brought his blade up desperately, hoping to stop the swing, but the thief kicked out, his foot catching in Atem's stomach and knocking the young king to the ground. The blade lodged in his arm, and Atem felt his vision gray. The thief tugged on the blade, tearing it out, a triumphant smile on his face…and then he was jerked backwards, the Shadows wrapping around his arms and legs. He screamed.

_Oh dear, _Zorc murmured in Bakura's head. _Looks like you have company._

* * *

The Shadows fed eagerly off Seth's anger as he entered Pharaoh's rooms. He heard his king cry out in agony, saw the thief struggling to pull his blade free. The Shadows responded instantly, and Seth felt the brief thrill of energy as the man died. His king staggered to his feet, arm bleeding fiercely, face chalk white.

"Seth, Bakura…"

But Seth didn't need to be told of the Thief King's presence. Bakura had been leaning against the wall, but now he stirred, and Seth was suddenly stifled by the Darkness that practically oozed from the Thief. He felt his throat tighten, but whether it was from fear or rage, he could not tell. The other thieves – perhaps five or six – glanced at each other uncertainly.

"Don't stand there gawking, fools," Bakura said. He drew a long, curved scimitar. "I shall deal with Pharaoh."

Seth tightened his grip on the Rod. "You shall have to deal with me first."

"Seth, we fight together." Pharaoh had retrieved his sword, holding it awkwardly in his left hand. "I will not allow…"

"You are hurt, Pharaoh," Seth snapped, not taking his eyes off Bakura. "You are a liability in this fight."

The king's eyes flashed dangerously. "A _liability?_"

"Are you two busy?" Bakura drawled before Seth could reply. "I could always come back and kill you _later._"

"What, and ruin this chance to destroy you _now_?" Seth said. He felt hatred coursing through him, could feel the Shadows growing stronger. Hermione's warning tugged at the corner of his mind, but he ignored it. He focused his mind on the great White Dragon.

A thief sprang at him and he impaled the man with the Millennium Rod. He heard his king curse behind him and heard a monster roar. The Darkness intensified until it filled the room. But even that was driven from his mind as Bakura attacked.

* * *

Isis stood against the wall of her room, cornered by a group of thieves. The bodies of two guards lay on the ground before her, and her white gown was wet with their blood. She held a dagger in her hand. The thieves were so intent on their prey that they didn't notice when Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered the room, and their first indication that all might not be going as planned was when their swords suddenly flew out of their hands.

"Expelliarmus!"

Though taken by surprise, the thieves recovered quickly. One lunged at Ron, drawing a knife from his robes. Panicked, Ron yelled the first spell that came into his head.

"Commutatus!"

There was a flash of light…and where the thief had stood, there was now a perfectly carved stone statue. It smelled like rotting eggs.

"Bloody hell…"

The thieves drew back, but they had forgotten Isis. The normally gentle priestess stepped forward and drew her dagger across one's throat from behind.

"Stupefy!" The last one fell.

Isis stood a moment, panting. "Thank you," she managed. "The king?"

"Mahaad and Seth are going to him," Hermione said. She gulped, avoiding the sight of the dead bodies on the floor. "Are you…are you alright?"

"Yes, but the others…"

"We'll go help them," Harry said. He and Hermione started leading the way to the door.

Ron didn't move. "Did you _see _that?" he demanded. "Did you see what I did to him?" He pointed at the statue. "That was totally wicked!"

Harry smiled wanly. "Won't McGonagall be thrilled."

* * *

"I knew you were weak," Bakura said as the blades clashed together. "But I still expected you to put up a _bit_ more of a fight."

It was becoming hard to breathe. Bakura was an experienced fighter; he danced circles around Seth, jabbing and slashing to keep the priest turning, distracted. But Seth's anger gave him energy, and he stabbed viciously at Bakura's face. Bakura skipped backwards, and for a split second, Seth had the opportunity to break free and go to his king. Instead, he pressed his advantage, driving Bakura back towards the wall. The Thief gave ground willingly, lips curling into a mocking smile.

"Where's your dragon?" he asked, blocking one of Seth's blows with apparent ease. "You could use its help right about now."

_Why _haven't_ I summoned it? _Seth asked himself, slashing at his opponent and parrying the return blow. He had no explanation…unless it was some lingering hesitation from Hermione's warnings. He had been so ready to summon it before...

"Seth!"

Seth started and was nearly impaled as a reward. He cursed and leapt back. _Mahaad._ There was a clash of metal and something behind him exploded. Mahaad had apparently joined the fight.

"Your plan is looking more and more unfeasible by the moment, Bakura," Seth taunted.

"_Can _you summon the dragon?" Bakura said as though he had not heard. "Or have you become so consumed in your new strumpet that it won't come when called?" Seth snarled and struck again, but Bakura dodged and kept talking. "You should thank me. If I hadn't killed your wife, you wouldn't have gotten such a powerful soul monster."

An almost thoughtful look spread across his face, ruined by the smirk. "Or did you _let _her die, Seth? You wanted her monster but you couldn't make yourself do it in cold blood? You took so long to come…"

Seth's scream of pain and fury mixed with the dragon's roar.

* * *

The doors quivered, but the wards held. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Isis stared at the shimmering gold, Isis trying to pick apart its pattern, the others just trying to remember a spell that might be useful.

"Aknadin taught Seth and Mahaad the Seven Words of Breaking," said Isis in frustration. "But I only know the First, and it would not be enough to break these. I need more time, which we do not have."

"Reckon I could just Commutatus it?" Ron asked hopefully.

"Then we'd just have a stone door which would be hard enough to move _without _the wards," Hermione snapped. "There has to be another way." She snapped her fingers. "I've got it!" She pointed her wand at the door. "Finite Incantatum!"

The wards trembled but held. Hermione tried again. "Finite Incantatum!"

"Maybe if we all tried it?" Harry suggested. He pointed his wand. "Finite Incantatum!" The wards wavered even more under the combined weight of all three spells, but did not fall.

"Once more," Isis said. "In unison."

"Finite Incantatum!" This time as they cast the spell, Isis spoke, a harsh guttural word. The wards shuddered and broke.

Instantly, the doors burst open, and a sleep-rumpled Shaada spilled out, clutching the Millennium Key. "Where is Bakura?" he demanded.

"He has gone after the Pharaoh," Isis said. "What happened?"

"A thief…at least, I think there was only one. I woke up to him standing over me with a dagger. When he saw I was awake, he rushed out and sealed me in. They are stronger than before, much stronger. I could not…what could have given them such power?"

"Guess we'll find out," Harry said grimly. "You're lucky he didn't kill you."

"I woke as well," Isis said. "There was only one at first, but then more came." Her eyes widened. "What of Karim? Aknadin?"

* * *

Karim lay on the floor of his room, covered in blood. He had apparently fallen out of bed, for there was blood there as well. He breathed, but barely. Isis fell to her knees at his side.

"Karim!"

"Stand back," Harry ordered. He pointed his wand at the unconscious priest. Hermione and Ron copied him. "Vulnera Sanentur!" they chorused.

The bleeding slowed. "Vulnera Sanentur!" It stopped. "Vulnera Sanentur!" The wound began to close.

Shaada grabbed Harry's arm. "If there is internal injury, you will seal it up inside, untreated," he said urgently. "That would kill him."

Karim's dark eyes fluttered open. Isis was instantly at his side again, taking his hand. "Karim! Are you alright?"

"Ph...Pharaoh?"

"Bakura is here," Isis said. "He sent his thieves to deal with us. You must lie still."

"Ph...Pharaoh must...must be protected," Karim said. "You mu...you must...leave me."

"No!" Isis began, but Shaada took her arm.

"We must, Isis," he said. "If Pharaoh dies, everything is in vain. Come." Slowly, she obeyed. In the door, she looked back, eyes filling with tears.

Karim managed the barest hint of a smile. "I will...wait here...for your return."


	14. Chapter 14

Bakura smirked with satisfaction. The dragon was _huge_, fueled by Seth's rage. It was larger than Diabound had ever been, and even as he watched, it grew larger still. Its wings unfurled, and hurricane winds buffeted him. Its summoner was quivering with anger, but his face was triumphant. How could he fail to lose with such a powerful monster behind him?

But Bakura could see what Seth could not. Those mighty wings were tattered, the blue eyes dull. Hardly white anymore, the dragon was a mess of dirt and dried blood. It roared, but to Bakura's ears there was a hint of despair, not triumph. He reached inside as lightning formed between its jaws. The Darkness rose up to meet him gladly; It knew, just as he did, that the fight was over.

* * *

It was taking all of Atem's concentration just to stay upright. He still held his sword, but loosely, and the effort of raising it was probably beyond him. Silently, he blessed Mahaad by all the gods he knew. Another thief was dead.

The Shadows responded sluggishly when he called. They could feel his blood, and feel that his strength was all but gone. It would not be long before they turned on him or, at best, refused to obey. If this battle did not end soon, he would be utterly powerless. Actually, he acknowledged, if this battle didn't end soon, he probably wouldn't be in a state to care about power at all.

He couldn't make his arm stop bleeding.

* * *

They didn't have time to look for Aknadin. If the old priest was dead or disabled, he'd be no use to them. And if alive, he would head to Pharaoh's rooms. So the little party simply ran toward these as fast as they could.

"Where are the soldiers?" Harry demanded as they rounded a corner.

"Outside the palace, most of them," Shaada panted. "More protecting the town. Pharaoh…Pharaoh wanted his people safe."

"Can't we…I don't know…_summon _them?" Ron asked. "We could use a bit of help right now."

"No time." Alone of all of them, Isis did not seem out of breath. The tears had dried on her face, and now it was almost as stone-like as the thief hit by Ron's Commutatus spell.

"What's going on?" People were emerging from their rooms. Most of them had only just been woken. Harry and the others just barreled around them, ignoring the questions. The ones that did not immediately move out of the way were pushed aside.

Then the dragon screamed.

* * *

Seth was back in the Shadow Realm. He had no memory of traveling there, but he did not care. All that mattered was the Thief King. He would kill him, break him, burn him... The anger white-hot inside him attracted the Shadows, and the Millennium Rod blazed to hold them back. But Bakura was nowhere to be seen.

"NO!" The word exploded from him, almost without his volition. Bakura _had _to be here; he had been dueling with him mere seconds ago. If Bakura was not here, then Kisara...

"Looking for me?"

Seth whirled. The Thief King lounged insolently on a throne of Shadows. They fawned on him like perverted dogs. Had Seth been thinking clearly, he might have wondered at this. Had Seth been thinking clearly, he might also have wondered how he had been dragged into the Shadow Realm without noticing.

But Seth was _not_ thinking clearly.

"Bakura," he hissed. "You will pay for the crimes you have committed."

Bakura leaned forward. "Don't you understand yet, Seth? This is what befalls a man who has lost his soul."

"My soul..." Dimly, he remembered a dragon's roar, and pain. He pushed the memory away. "I lost my soul a long time ago, Thief."

Bakura smiled, a cruel smile. "I take what I please."

Even in the black of the Shadow Realm, Seth saw red. He raised a hand...and the Shadows swirling around the throne engulfed him. He could not move and could barely breathe. The Millennium Rod shone briefly and then went out.

"Don't you understand yet, _boy_?" the Thief King whispered in his ear. "_I _am master here."

And Seth saw his revenge stripped away from him. This was not the Thief King that he faced, not any more. This was something older, something darker. Memories, faint and precarious, of a voice, a similar meeting...

"Zor..." he began, then bit his tongue.

"Yeesss," Zorc purred. He circled the captive priest, looking him up and down. "I did not think you would be so foolish to come and challenge me again. Are you really so desperate for revenge?" Seth glared at him and was silent.

"Hmm, I wonder..." Zorc took a step back, and his semblance of the Thief King _shifted. _Another image formed, a copy of the first. It solidified and the real Bakura looked around, dark eyes narrowing.

"Zorc," he growled. "What..."

"You refused me last time, little mortal," Zorc said to Seth. "I offered you the world and you would not take it." He smiled and glanced at the Thief King. "But maybe I offered you the wrong thing."

Bakura's eyes widened. "Why you..." He lunged forward, but the Shadows pinned him in place, twining around his arms and legs. Another wound around his head, cutting off his voice. Though he struggled, Bakura was not strong enough to throw them off.

Zorc gestured towards Bakura, mouth curving even farther into a truly demonic leer. "So . . . here is my new offer, Blue Eyes." The Shadows imprisoning Seth slid backwards and away; he was free, and the glow of the Millennium Rod slowly kindled again. Zorc's voice grew lower, more enticing. "Make him scream. Make him _suffer. _Make him pay for what he did."

_Yes, _Seth thought.

A blade formed in Zorc's hand, and he handed it to Seth, hilt first.

* * *

"Expecto Patronum!" The stag burst from the tip of Harry's wand and cantered into the Shadows that were currently attacking Mahaad. They scattered and the thieves summoning them jerked their heads up in surprise.

"Stupefy!" One of them fell. Hermione had good aim.

"Commutatus!" Ron roared, but the thief dove out of the way, and the Pharaoh's bed suddenly turned to stone. "Oops. Sorry, Pharaoh." He took aim again. "Stupefy!" The thief couldn't rise from the floor quickly enough to avoid it, and he slumped back down again, unconscious.

"Forgiven," Pharaoh said. He leaned against the wall, his free hand clamped over his right arm. He tried to smile, but it turned into a grimace of pain.

"You're hurt!" Hermione hurried over, throwing a nervous glance at the two thieves who were now dueling with Harry and Mahaad, but they were too busy to notice her. She pried the Pharaoh's fingers away from the wound and blanched. "Vulnera Sanentur!" The bleeding began to slow as the light from Hermione's wand struck it. Pharaoh breathed a sigh of relief and a bit of color came back into his cheeks.

In the background, Harry's wand flew from his hand as his opponent slammed into him. The force of the leap carried the thief briefly past Harry. Without missing a beat, Harry dove for one of the swords on the ground and brought it up just in time to meet the swing of the man's sword. Apparently he'd absorbed a thing or two from Seth's sword lessons.

"Thank you," Pharaoh murmured. He raised his own sword. "I must help Mahaad."

"No need." The two thieves collapsed nearly in unison, one the victim of a full body bind – Harry had managed to retrieve his wand – and the second stripped of his soul by the Millennium Ring. Mahaad stepped over their bodies towards his king. "Are you alright, Pharaoh?"

"Yes, but Seth..."

Mahaad looked in the direction of Pharaoh's gaze. Seth lay crumpled on the floor, eyes wide and unseeing. Beside him lay the body of the Thief King.

"He is in the Shadow Realm," Mahaad said in horror. "They both are."

"But not by choice," Pharaoh murmured. "Strange..."

"We have to pull him out!" Hermione protested. "What if it's like last time? What if he..."

But the Pharaoh and his priests had already begun to chant.

* * *

Seth heard the chanting, but it sounded like it was underwater or far away. His mind stirred sluggishly, trying to identify it. But thought was driven from his head as his fingers, almost without his volition, closed around the knife's hilt. It felt good. It felt right.

_This is Zorc! _protested his common sense. _He is not to be trusted!_

_Bakura murdered my wife._

He took a step towards Bakura, who struggled madly against the Shadow bonds. But the thief could get no leverage. Zorc made another casual gesture, and the Shadows tightened, locking the Thief King entirely in place. Only Bakura's eyes moved, darting from Zorc to the Shadows, then fixing inexorably on Seth. Something very like fear flickered in their depths.

"That's it," Zorc said. "He deserves to die. Kill him. Take your revenge."

_His beloved wife lay sprawled on the floor. Her beautiful white hair was stiff with blood. Her clothes were torn; blood oozed from what seemed like every pore._

Bakura tried to say something, but the Shadows gagged him too effectively. Somehow, Seth knew that Zorc would not deny him the Thief King's screams. But until then, Bakura could say nothing, _do _nothing, until Zorc willed it.

Until _Seth_ willed it.

_Her fingers were broken, one leg lay at an awkward angle. Seth had seen a hundred battles, men screaming and dying, but never such an example of brutal savagery._

"You killed her," he said to the Thief King. "You tortured her for hours and then you _killed_ her."

_Bakura rose. He met Seth's eyes. He smirked. Then, as casually as if he were stooping to clear a rock from his sandal, he bent down and slit Kisara's throat. Her whimper of pain was cut off abruptly as she choked on her own blood._

Seth looked straight into the Thief King's eyes, raised the blade, and pressed it against Bakura's chest.

* * *

"Something blocks us," Shaada panted.

"The Demon," Pharaoh growled. "He knows us all by name and can close the Shadow Realm against us."

"Then why did he let you use Shadow Magic against his minions?" Harry asked. "If this…demon or whatever is so powerful, couldn't he just have, I dunno, _stopped _you?"

"Because He doesn't care about them," Mahaad said. "They weren't important. This," he gestured at Seth and Bakura. "_This _was His ultimate plan."

"We have to prevent Him from breaking through into this world," Pharaoh said. "But if we cannot even get to the Shadow Realm, if the Shadows will not respond..."

"Um...excuse me?"

They all turned to Hermione. Her face was pale, but determined. "Did you say he can keep you out because he knows your names?"

"Yes," Pharaoh said slowly, and then his eyes widened.

"What are you on about, Hermione?" Ron demanded. Then his eyes widened too. "You're not seriously considering going in after what's-his-face, are you?"

"I have to," Hermione said calmly. "If Bakura wins, it's over."

"You do not have to do this," Pharaoh said quietly. "We can find another way."

"No," she said, trying to ignore the pounding of her heart. "You can't."

"Then we're going with you!" Ron said.

The Pharaoh began to chant and slowly the priests and priestess followed suit. The air charged.

"No," Hermione said, knowing what she said was true, though not entirely sure how she knew it. "They don't have strength for more than one."

"Then I'll go!" Harry said, but the spell had already caught hold.

* * *

Zorc felt the new presence in his Realm immediately. He shifted in annoyance; it distracted him from the exquisite hatred and betrayal before him. Seth was so close…Zorc smirked. Whoever Pharaoh had sent would be too late.

* * *

The cold of the Shadow Realm pierced Hermione's heart like a knife. The light here was strained, diseased looking, and _something _was moving all around her, whispering to her, tugging at her clothes and hair and trying to worm its way underneath her skin.

"Protego!" she said, and the presence skittered backward, repelled by the shield charm. But Hermione gasped. It felt like a huge fist had torn a chunk out of her heart; she felt her knees begin to buckle. The _something _moved in closer again.

She began to shiver uncontrollably. What had she been thinking? What good did she think _she _could do? She couldn't even survive in this alien place. What would happen to her body when she died here? Would it just kind of crumble away, or would her heart still try and keep a body alive that had no soul?

But no. Pharaoh was counting on her. Seth was counting on her. Ron and Harry were waiting for her. She had to do what she had come to do. And then she had to get _back_.

"Expecto...Expecto Patronum!"

Her Patronus flickered into being and then died. The darkness seemed to laugh at her. She tried again, squeezing her eyes shut and forcing herself to remember how she had felt when they'd first started Dumbledore's Army, that sense of pride and accomplishment. She thought of Seth too, and his smile as he'd taught her how to use a sword.

"Expecto Patronum!"

The silvery otter burst into being again, and this time, it didn't fade. The Shadows drew back, filling the air with their anger at being balked. Hermione lifted her wand a little higher and looked around.

"Seth!"

* * *

Zorc jerked around, his attention torn forcibly away from Seth and Bakura. A girl was running towards them, a brightly illuminated animal running at her side and another light at the end of a short wooden rod that she carried in her hand. He hissed in irritation and anger; he could _feel_ the strength of that magic, and how alien it was here. It was not the kind of light that allowed for shadows.

"Seth!"

Seth did not hear, too wrapped up Zorc's magic to notice the intrusion. He was saying something to Bakura, pressing the dagger against the Thief King's heart. His back was to the girl. She hadn't ruined Zorc's plans…

"Seth!"

…yet.

But Zorc would not give her the opportunity to interfere further. He was Master of the Shadow Realm, and _no one _had power here unless he willed it.

"Seth!"

* * *

"Seth!"

_Her face was a bloody horror, but those same bright blue eyes stared out from the ruin; even now, they had the power to capture his heart. She smiled and whispered his name…_

His name…

His _name…_

"Seth!"

Seth started, a man awakening from a dream. For the first time, he saw where he was, really saw. He could hear Kisara's voice in his head.

"_No, my love."_

She'd been trying to tell him. She'd been trying to tell him this whole time. She'd been right in front of him – he'd _watched_ his soul decaying – and he'd refused to see her or to listen. What kind of a monster had he let himself become? Hermione had said the same thing. But in his heart of hearts, he'd ignored her too.

He jerked back from Bakura, the blade biting a little into the Thief King's skin.

Behind him, Hermione screamed in pain and fear.

"You would give up your revenge so easily? It is what you have dreamed of," Zorc growled at his side. "What you want more than anything in the world."

Seth shook his head. "You cannot give me what I want." With that, he turned and rammed the Shadow blade into Zorc's heart. The Demon screamed and writhed, but Seth leaned against the blade, forcing it still deeper until he was near enough to whisper in the Demon's ear.

"You cannot give her back."

* * *

Hermione stirred and opened her eyes. For a moment, she couldn't think of where she was. Why was she lying on the floor? And why were Ron and Harry leaning over her looking so worried?

"Hermione!" Ron yelled. He would later deny the surge of relief that colored his voice. "You're back!"

It was hard to make her voice work. "Did we win?"

"Yes," a quiet voice said. "We won."

She looked over. Seth sat propped against a pillar. Isis was fussing over him, and even Shaada and Mahaad hovered around him, looking worried. Seth ignored them. He looked exhausted, even haunted, but the hatred she had seen earlier was gone from his face. She looked away.

"How did…"

"Questions can wait until later," Pharaoh rumbled, stern tone ruined by his beautiful, radiant smile. "You must be tired."

And all at once, Hermione was. She didn't really want to stand up, and her bed must be miles away from here. She closed her eyes to gather her strength, only for a minute…and was asleep at once.


	15. Chapter 15

'Later' was two days later, when Hermione finally woke up to find Harry and Ron sitting beside her bed. Both boys let out excited yelps when they saw that she was awake, and both looked like they might hug her. At the last minute, they decided otherwise.

"We're glad you're alright," Harry said.

"Yeah, we thought you were going to sleep forever!"

"I'm fine, really," she said. "What time is it?"

The boys looked at each other. "Dunno," Harry said. "They don't really have clocks here, Hermione."

She let out a hiss of annoyance. "Is it daytime? Nighttime?"

"Oh," Ron said. "It's day. Probably about lunchtime."

That made sense. Hermione was starving. Her stomach growled.

"C'mon," Ron said. "Bet they'll have some stuff in the kitchens."

* * *

The guards snapped to attention as he approached. Seth waved them aside. They gave way reluctantly, shooting him furtive looks. They needn't have worried, Seth thought, stepping past them. There was no danger now.

From either of them.

The Thief King hung against the wall at the far end of his cell. The chains immobilized him nearly as much as the Shadows had, and only the faint rise and fall of his chest told Seth he was alive at all. Bakura's matted hair hung in his face.

Seth took his time, trying to find the man who had murdered Kisara. But the strong, well-muscled body was utterly slack now. Likewise the face. Without the cleverness and malice that usually marked it, Bakura's face seemed strangely empty. _Mad eyes glimmered out of his thin face… He met Seth's eyes. He smirked. _But there was no smirk now, none of the madness Seth remembered. Bakura had always had a strong physical presence; now he hung limply in his chains. He breathed, but that was all.

The man Seth had hated for so long was gone.

He knew Bakura's soul was not out of reach. The Shadow Realm had taken it when the Demon had rescinded his blessing, yes, but a talented Shadowmancer always had ways of taking back what the Shadow Realm stole. He could force the soul to return to Bakura's body, take his vengeance then…

"You're not worth it," he told the dying thief. Turning on his heel, he left the dungeons and began his long climb back up to the surface.

Behind him, Bakura's breathing stopped.

* * *

"That was good," Ron said, licking his lips. "Almost as good as Hogwarts."

"Speaking of Hogwarts…" Harry began.

"Hermione?"

She turned, and immediately wished she hadn't. Seth was hurrying down the hallway towards her, dressed in his robes of office with the Millennium Rod in his hand. He came to a halt in front of her, ignoring the filthy looks both Harry and Ron gave him. "May I speak with you?"

She thought about saying no. "Alright." She shooed Ron and Harry off. "I'll catch up."

"Hermione…" Ron started.

"Go!" she snapped. "I'm fine."

When they had moved off to the end of the hallway, Seth looked at her. "You have been avoiding me," he said.

"No, no!" Hermione protested. "Of course I haven't. I…" She broke off at the look on his face and took a deep breath. "It's just…what I saw you…you know…in the Shadow Realm…"

"Ah," he said with a bitter smile, holding up his hand to forestall her. "I understand."

There was an awkward silence.

"Is…" Hermione swallowed. "Is that…_thing_ dead?"

"The Demon? No," Seth said. "But he is weakened and has lost his vessel in Bakura. It may be some time before he has enough strength to try again."

"That's really…that's really good."

Another long awkward silence.

"I wanted to thank you," he said finally, "for saving my life."

Hermione turned bright red. "But I didn't do anything."

"On the contrary," he said, a hint of steel in his voice. "If it were not for you interference, I would have been lost." He looked down at her, and there was an almost soft expression in his eyes. He bowed his head. "My thanks."

Then he turned and walked away.

* * *

Aknadin was in his quarters when the doors swung open. He whirled. "Who _dares_…Seth? What is the meaning of this?"

The young priest crossed the tiled floor in silence and then looked at Aknadin. "I have replayed that night over and over in my head," he said. "And there is one thing I cannot understand." For the first time, Aknadin caught a glimpse of the Millennium Rod in Seth's hand. It glowed with an sinister light. Aknadin had taught Seth to be a priest and had looked after him since he was a boy. But now, looking at him, Aknadin had the sudden horrible feeling that he did not know the man at all.

"Where were you?" Seth asked. So soft, so quiet, his voice. He could have been remarking on the color of the tiles. "Thieves came for Karim, Shaada, and Isis. Thieves came for Mahaad. Thieves came for me. What of the thieves that came for you?"

Aknadin opened his mouth, but Seth cut him off. "When you did not come to Pharaoh's rooms, I worried that you had been slain. I pictured you, if not dead, then at least severely injured. I pictured you lying on the floor of your rooms covered in blood with great wounds all over you, unable to muster the strength to rise to your feet and come defend your king." He took a step closer to Aknadin, eyes very hard. "And yet I find you here, not only alive, but apparently unhurt." Aknadin said nothing.

"So I ask again, Aknadin." And only now did his voice rise, the tiniest amount, but the Millennium Rod blazed up with its wielder's anger. "Where. Were. You?"

Aknadin felt a shiver of fear, and hated himself for it. He drew himself up. "You dare accuse me of treachery? I was not in my rooms when the battle occurred. I was in the library, seeking out a way of determining Bakura's hiding place. As _you _should have been doing," he added severely. "You allowed yourself to be distracted by that foreign girl."

Seth gazed at him for a long moment, neither confirming nor denying the accusation. "I do not believe you." But the glow from the Millennium Rod dimmed slightly. "But," he said, and turned. "I have no proof."

At the door, he stopped. "But know this, Lord Aknadin," he said, not looking back, but his words came across clearly. "If you ever betray our pharaoh, I will kill you myself."

* * *

The throne room had a much more pleasant atmosphere this time than it had the first time Ron, Harry, and Hermione had visited it. The scribes and soldiers were still in their accustomed places, but none of the soldiers were menacing the three of them with spears, and the pharaoh sitting on his throne at the far end of the hall, surrounded by his priests, greeted them with a smile.

"I'm glad to see you have recovered, Hermione." The priests all smiled at her as well, all except Seth and Aknadin. Aknadin seemed angry and preoccupied, and Seth's face was expressionless. "The Shadow Realm can severely tax the strength of someone who is not used to it."

Hermione blushed. "I'm fine," she squeaked. "Um…thanks for everything, you know, the food and stuff…"

Pharaoh waved a hand. "It was my pleasure."

"Um, not to rain on the parade or anything," Ron said nervously. "But…um…we're still kinda far from home, and, well..."

"You'd like to return." Pharaoh nodded solemnly. "I understand. However, before you go, I'd like to offer you our gratitude, both for myself and for my entire court. You have rid our country of a very great evil. And," he added gravely as all three blushed, but his eyes twinkled with suppressed merriment. "I am pleased to inform you that my bed has been returned to its proper condition."

Ron's blush deepened until his face was exactly the color of his hair. "I said I was sorry," he muttered. Harry and Hermione stifled sniggers.

"You are free to return to your homeland now," Pharaoh said. "Take with you my blessings and the blessings of the gods." The court obediently echoed his words, and the priests all nodded in acknowledgment.

"Um…" Hermione ventured in a small voice. "How exactly are we supposed to _get _home? I mean, we don't really know how we got here and…"

"The gods brought you here," Pharaoh said, and smiled. "And they will take you back."

He clapped his hands. "As it is written, so let it be done."

The hall dissolved in light.

* * *

"So let it be done," Pharaoh murmured as the foreigners disappeared. He looked to his right, where Seth stood deep in reverie. "They are gone."

Seth inclined his head. "Yes, Pharaoh. They are gone."

"My king?" Mahaad said. He gestured toward the throne room, where most of the people were still standing open-mouthed. "What shall I tell the court?"

A small smile played around Pharaoh's lips. "The truth, Mahaad, what else?"

Mahaad nodded. "Of course, my king."

"Without the time travel."

Mahaad nodded again. "Of course, my king."

"Leave out mention of my injuries as well. The people need to continue to believe in Pharaoh's strength. Karim's injuries should be downplayed likewise."

"Of course, my king."

"Also, do not reveal how near the Demon came to breaking through into our world. We do not wish to alarm the people or cause wild rumors to be spread."

Mahaad eyed him. "So, a very _small _portion of the truth, my king?"

"What else?" Pharaoh asked innocently.

Mahaad nodded. "It shall be done."

Isis approached, bearing a scroll. "A report from the Nile Delta, Pharaoh. The farmers desire your permission to carve new irrigation channels. They also wish for your blessing to ensure a bountiful harvest."

Pharaoh permitted himself a small sigh. Once again, he felt the weight of the gold crown on his head. "Now that Bakura has gone, I must return to the business of running a kingdom," he said ruefully. "It is good that I have my vizier to help me." He looked meaningfully at Seth.

"I am at your service, as always, my Pharaoh," Seth said respectfully. "However…might I beg an hour or two before we begin?"

Pharaoh nodded. "Ah yes," he said. "You must be tired." He gestured with his hand. "I will get started without you. Go, but I expect you back in an hour." He made a face, hidden from the rest of the court. "You know I rely on you to make sense of some of these reports."

Seth had not gone two steps before the pharaoh called him back. "Oh, and Seth?" The young king did not smile, but there was a softness in his eyes that Seth recognized well. "It is good to have you back."

* * *

Seth closed the doors to his rooms and let out a sigh. Now that he was no longer before the court, he allowed his weariness to take hold of him. He had risen from bed before Kamuzu had permitted it, and he was starting to think the healer had been right in telling him that his body would still be worn out from its exertions and that he should not press it too hard.

"_My love?"_

He looked up and saw the great white dragon standing before him. Its eyes, _Kisara's _eyes, watched him gravely, but with a hint of tenderness. He reached out a hand, and the dragon pressed her muzzle up against it. They stood like that for a long time, man and dragon, and Seth felt new strength run through him. He smiled, the first truly heartfelt smile he could remember smiling since Kisara died.

"I am fine, my love. Better than fine." He rested his head against hers. Then, reluctantly: "I am needed by Pharaoh."

The dragon nudged his shoulder. _"I will be with you." _

_I know you will. _And as Seth straightened his shoulders and headed towards the door, he felt his body swaying and his feet instinctively forming the patterns of a dance.

* * *

_5000 years in the future…_

"The pharaoh Aknankamon was the last pharaoh to rely on magic for his building projects," Professor Binns droned. "Later pharaohs predominantly made use of slave labor to build their tombs and monuments. It is unclear why this is so. Some historians believe that a cataclysmic event robbed Egypt of most of its magic…"

Harry looked around. Everything was exactly as it had been before they'd traveled back in time. Umbridge sat in the back, scribbling little notes on her clipboard and occasionally clearing her throat with a little _hmm, hmm. _The rest of the class was still in various states of stupor. It was like the past week had been nothing but a dream.

"Did that really just happen?" Ron whispered.

Harry could only shrug.

"Of _course_ it did!" Hermione hissed on his other side. "You remember how the Time Turner worked, don't you? Though I'm glad we didn't have to live through the five thousand years or so between then and now, aren't you? I mean, it would have been _fascinating _of course to watch all that happening, but…"

Ron rolled his eyes. "There's the Hermione we know," he said. "Always mixing up her priorities."

"Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger, Mr. Potter, do pay attention to Professor Binns," Umbridge simpered from the back of the classroom. "Or I shall have to put you in detention." She gave a little girlish giggle. "Continue, Professor."

It was doubtful if Professor Binns even noticed the interruption, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione reluctantly faced forward and tried to pay attention as Binns droned on and on and on.

"Funny," Ron whispered to Harry with a quick backward glance at Umbridge. "It was a lot more exciting when we were living it."

Harry agreed, but for once, not wanting to risk a detention with Umbridge, he kept his mouth shut.

* * *

"Well? How is it?" Ron demanded anxiously. It was evening, and all three were sitting in the Gryffindor common room.

Hermione looked up from the essay, entitled _The Commutatus Spell and its Uses. _"It's actually pretty good, but you might want to take out the bit about how one of its uses is "blasting the Thief King's minions."

"Blimey," Ron said, taking the essay and looking it over. "Did I put that in there? I guess it just slipped out."

"Other than that, it's not bad," Hermione said, then turned to Harry. "I'll look at yours now, Harry."

Hurriedly, Harry crossed out the same sentence on his own paper before handing it to her.

"I don't get why I can't just leave that part in," Ron grumbled, still scratching out the offending line. "It's true!"

"You want to explain that to McGonagall?" Hermione said, handing the paper back to Harry. "This is good, Harry, but it's a _flicking _motion, not a _flinging _motion." Sheepishly, Harry crossed out the word and rewrote it. "It's not like we can tell anyone about this," Hermione added, going back to the conversation with Ron. "Time travel's supposed to be illegal."

"But this isn't the first time you've done it," Ron protested. "You used a Time Turner our third year at school!"

"That was with Dumbledore's permission!" Hermione said. "That's different…"

"How? Because it was an ancient Egyptian pharaoh instead of an ancient Hogwarts headmaster?" Ron demanded. "Think about it Hermione. We saved the world!"

"That's true," Hermione said, looking a little less tense.

"And as such," Ron finished, "we should celebrate!"

She gave him a suspicious look. "Celebrate how?"

"Um…" he trailed off. "Not go to Transfiguration tomorrow?"

"Why don't we just go down to dinner?" Harry said quickly. Just as well; Hermione looked scandalized.

"Skip classes," she muttered. "The _thought!_"

Just as they reached the portrait hole, Dean Thomas stepped through it from the other side. He was carrying a rolled-up poster.

"Hullo, Harry," he said cheerfully. "Going down to dinner?"

"Yep," Harry said.

"What's that?" Ron asked.

"Oh, it's a Duel Monsters poster," Dean said happily. "It's this great game that they have back in the Muggle world. Not as good as soccer, but…" He started enthusiastically unrolling the poster. "They just hosted the Battle City Tournament, and my mum sent me this by owl."

"So they're not even real spells?" Ron groused. "That's…"

But whatever he had been about to say died in his throat. Eight people stood beneath the words "BATTLE CITY TOURNAMENT." There was a girl in an extremely short skirt and tight shirt with waist-length blond hair and a couple of guys, also with blonde hair. There was even a short guy with an extremely white face and spiky hair who looked like a monster out of a bad zombie movie. There were two others as well, both of whom looked strangely familiar. But the trio's eyes were immediately drawn to the two duelists standing at the front.

One of them was tall. He wore a ridiculous white trench coat and a great many buckles and straps. Despite the outlandish outfit, the thin, aristocratic face gave the impression of looking down at them. The skin was a little paler than they remembered it, but the hair and eyes remained the same.

The second duelist was just as horribly familiar. He was short, much shorter than the boy at his side. He had tricolored hair that, as Hermione had noted before, should have looked stupid, but didn't. Like the taller boy, he was dressed like a punk, but somehow it didn't detract from his regal bearing. Compelling crimson eyes stared out at them from beneath lightning bangs, and an all-too-familiar golden pyramid hung from a thick chain around his neck.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at each other. "Oh no, not again."


End file.
